


Portrait of the Artist, With His Muse

by camelots_scribe



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Modern Era, Past Domestic Violence, perwaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camelots_scribe/pseuds/camelots_scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disowned by his father, Arthur Pendragon has been forced to fend for himself for the first time in his life. One Monday morning, an advert in the jobs section of the Camelot Chronicle catches his eye. Little does he know that as soon as he circles this advertisement, his life will be taken down a completely unexpected path: a path involving art, a crisis of identity and - most importantly - a mysterious young artist, who goes by the name of Merlin Emrys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I started writing this, Merlin came across as a sassy hippie artist, and the Arthur/Merlin relationship has been flipped on its head a bit in terms of dominance. 
> 
> Rugby fans - specifically fans of the Glasgow Warriors - will probably recognise Merlin's 'former muse' who was so gifted with height.
> 
> I ask for any criticism given to be constructive.

Arthur Pendragon was spending his Monday morning in the same place that he spent _every_ weekday morning: in a seat, by the window of Lou’s Greasy Spoon Café, at a table for two. His only company was a grey mug of coffee, a greasy fry-up and a newspaper.

The newspaper, as always, was open on the jobs section. Arthur was running his finger over each little square: ‘Leaflet Distributer wanted’; ‘Cleaner needed at Kev’s Kebab’s’; ‘Dog-sit in your own home – easy money!’ He had his pen at the ready, in order to circle any more promising boxes. His finger stopped at a small advert, which simply read: ‘Male model needed. Time period undecided. Email memrys@emrysstudios.co.uk’ Arthur circled the ad. Lou immediately waddled over, shoving his bulging stomach aggressively in Arthur’s face. “Oi! If you’re gonna defecate my newspaper, you can buy your own!”

“It’s ‘desecrate', Lou.” Arthur sighed.

“No, it ain’t – I know what I mean!” Lou insisted. “Just ‘cause I didn’t have a fancy education like you, it don’t mean I’m stupid.”

“I never insinuated that you were,” Arthur told him patiently. “Perhaps you were merely confused. You see if I had _defecated_ on your newspaper then I would have soiled it, and I think we can both see that I haven’t.”

“I s’pose you’re right, Pendragon,” Lou grumbled. “But the point still stands: you shouldn’t’ve marked my paper.”

“Come on, Lou – you _know_ I can’t afford my own. I spend most of my money here as it is. And you _also_ know that I’m looking for a job.” Arthur reasoned.

“All right, all right – you can take the whole bleedin’ jobs section if you _really_ want – you’re the only one round here who don’t turn their nose up at the stuff they advertise in there anyway.”

Lou shuffled alone, leaving Arthur to stroke the advert for the model almost lovingly, as if it were his only hope in the world. “I can’t afford to be choosy. Not anymore.”

****

Two days later, Arthur was squinting at a map on his phone, as he wandered through Camelot’s hub of art and culture. There were bookshops; galleries; artsy cinemas and theatres; weird and wonderful market stalls; cafes which were _considerably_ more upmarket than Lou’s and the greatest number of studios Arthur had ever come across in one concentrated area. The only studio he _couldn’t_ see was that of this elusive M. Emrys. 

He would usually have called, but the email he had received the previous day, inviting him to a ‘suitability consultation’, had stated that M. Emrys did not believe in ‘being tied down by such things as phones’.  

Eventually – with only five minutes to spare – Arthur laid eyes on the tiny premises on Emrys Studios, squeezed in between a vegan café and an erotic bookshop. The studio was labelled with a tiny brass plaque, set upon the peeling front door: ‘Emrys Studios. Owned and run by M. Emrys. Enquiries within.’

Arthur pressed the doorbell. The door was immediately wrenched open. Before him stood a long, lithe and lean young man – probably in his early twenties – with bright blue eyes, sharp features and short, dark brown hair, which stuck up at all angles. The man was wearing a baggy tie-dye top, loose linen trousers and a pair of flip-flops. He looked like he came from a different decade.

The man peered into Arthur’s face, his eyes seeming to pierce his very soul. “Yes?” he demanded, somewhat irritably. “What do you want?”

“Um – I – I – I’m here about the job,” Arthur began uncertainly, before clarifying: “The modelling job. It was advertised in the Camelot Chronicle. I’m Arthur Pendragon – I was told to come here, in the email.”

“Oh – _you’re_ Arthur Pendragon!” the strange man exclaimed, gazing at him appraisingly. “Well, you’ll do, you’ll do, I suppose. Come in.”

Uncertainly, Arthur followed him down a small, bright corridor. The white-painted brick wall was lined with a few small paintings. Glancing at them as he passed, Arthur realised that they were all of attractive young men – in varying states of undress.

The man led Arthur through to a large, airy room. The room was bare, apart from a dilapidated old sofa, an easel – upon which was a blank canvas – a paint-set and a wooden chair.

“Sit down,” the man commanded, gesturing at the wooden chair, which was positioned opposite the easel. “Tea or coffee?”

Arthur gave him a blank look. “What?”

“Would you like tea or coffee to drink?” he asked impatiently.

“Er…coffee, thanks.”

The man swayed out of the room (there was really no other way Arthur could think of describing his elegant walk), and Arthur was left alone with his confusion. Did he have the job? Had the brief exchange at the door, where he had been told that he’d ‘do’ (whatever _that_ meant) been the extent of the so-called ‘suitability consultation’?

The man soon returned, passing Arthur a Glasgow Warriors mug filled with steaming coffee. “You’re a rugby fan?” Arthur asked, with some surprise.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” the man retorted defensively.

Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know – you just don’t really seem…” He trailed off, worried that he had just thrown away the job.

“I’m not,” the man revealed, wry amusement dancing in his eyes. “A former muse of mine played for the Warriors. Oh, he was _great_ to work with – so much masculinity; so much _height!”_

“I see,” Arthur said awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. “And what does one have to do in order to qualify as your ‘muse’?”

“Well, firstly, you have to be a man, so you’ve ticked _that_ box – congratulations!”

Arthur frowned slightly. “Do you only paint men, then?”

The man nodded. “Yeah. Women aren’t exactly my forte,” He gave Arthur a challenging look. “Is that going to be an issue?”

“Er…no – not at all!” Arthur exclaimed hastily. “That’s fine!”

“I _know_ it’s fine – I was just wondering whether you’d be the sort to take offense to it.” the man retorted, a touch of his former irritable nature returning.

“Well, I’m not – really.” Arthur assured him earnestly.

The man’s lips twitched in a half-smile. “Good. That’s good. Anyway: to be my muse, you also have to be young, athletic, muscular and handsome – and you are, so that bodes well for you.”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. “Brilliant. I’ve, er, I’ve got my CV here.”

The man took it from him, giving it a brief glance. “This will make for interesting bedtime reading, I’m sure.” He tossed the page onto the couch; then held his hand out to Arthur. “Well then, Arthur Pendragon – it’s about time we got properly acquainted. My name is Merlin Emrys, and I’ve built this studio from scratch, with the artistic inspiration of my muses. I’d like to invite you to join their ranks.”

Arthur took Merlin’s hand and shook it. “It would be my honour, Merlin Emrys.”

****

Three hours later, Arthur had finished posing (somewhat awkwardly, since he wasn’t exactly a practised model) for a few preliminary sketches that Merlin had drawn of him. Now he was making the familiar walk down the gravel path of a narrow alleyway, which was lined with a barbed-wire fence and an impressive array of weeds. There were smashed bottles and cigarette stubs strewn all over the ground and – as usual – the distinctive scent of mingled urine, vomit and blood was in the air.

At the end of the alleyway was a line of five garages. Arthur walked up to the third and banged on its metal door. Some of its peeling red paint flaked away, falling to the ground. Immediately, the door was hoisted up, and Arthur was greeted by a tall, burley man. He had sparkling blue eyes, very light brown hair and the thickest arms Arthur had ever seen (and which were, as usual, proudly on display, as their owner was wearing his customary vest-top and jogging bottoms). “Arthur!” he grinned. “On time as usual! How are you, mate?”

“Good, thanks, Percival,” Arthur replied, following him into the garage. “And yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good mate.” Percival answered, casually throwing himself onto a sagging couch, in the corner of the garage.

Percival’s garage had become Arthur’s personal haven in recent months. It was equipped with a couch; a coffee table; a fridge (filled with beer and microwave meals); a microwave and kettle and – most importantly – boxing equipment. This included a punching bag (which had borne the brunt of many of Arthur’s frustrations); gloves and an old boxing ring, which Percival had bought cheap from a friend whose gym was closing down. Arthur had previously been a member of a gym, but he could no longer afford the membership fee, so Percival’s garage was all he had access to these days.

He joined Percival on the sofa, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

“Fag?”

Arthur propelled himself up from the sofa as soon as this word had left Percival’s mouth. _“EXCUSE ME?”_

“Do you _want_ a fag?” Percival clarified, holding a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out to him.

Arthur sat back down, flushing with embarrassment. He quickly took a cigarette and the lighter, lighting the cigarette up and taking a long drag. Once he had exhaled, he said: “Thanks – I’ve been gagging for a smoke for the last week. I haven’t been able to afford a packet. And I had a job interview today, so I wanted to make a good impression anyway.”

“You need to calm down, mate – stop getting so defensive, you know?” Percival told him gravely. “What was this job interview for?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“Would I ever?” Percival asked innocently.

“Yes, you bloody well would!” Arthur retorted. “Since you ask, it was for a male model, with a local artist. I got the job.”

 _“You –_ a male model?” Percival snorted. “You’re not exactly keeping up the act, are you?”

“I can’t afford to turn down a job,” Arthur sighed. “It pays well – ten pounds an hour.”

“You wouldn’t be caught _dead_ saying that a year ago.”

“Times have changed, Perce,” Arthur was eager to change the subject, so he asked: “Where’s Gwaine today?”

“Doctor’s. Turned out those injuries from his last fight were more serious than we thought at first – he’s getting stitches,” Percival revealed, his brow creasing with anxiety. “I reckon that Valiant bloke was a gay-basher – I won’t be using _him_ again!”

“Well, maybe you should take _that_ down,” Arthur suggested, indicating a gay pride banner, which was hanging above their heads. “You’re _asking_ for trouble, having _that_ up during a fight.”

“I’m going to remember your personal circumstances and pretend I didn’t hear that comment,” Percival said calmly. “And then – once you’ve finished that fag – I’m going to get you in the ring and beat the living shit out of you. Deal?”

Arthur smiled, his blood already burning in his veins as the prospect of this challenge. “Deal.”

****

When Arthur awoke the following morning his head was pounding. After his bout in the ring with Percival (which had, as usual, ended in a humiliating defeat for Arthur) they had slumped onto the sofa and considerably diminished the garage’s supply of beer.

Arthur cautiously prised one sticky eye open. The grotty, nicotine-stained ceiling of his bedsit slowly came into focus. Groaning, he opened the other eye and sat up in his bed. He had to lean forward and steady himself with his arms after this move, as the blood rushed to his head and the whole room began to swim.

This one room – along with a tiny bathroom, which was no larger than a cupboard – comprised Arthur’s entire living quarters. His bed was shoved into one corner and could be folded away to become his sofa. His tiny TV and unstable, poorly assembled flat-pack wardrobe stood opposite this. There was also a small kitchen area along one wall, with its hideous, Seventies-style orange cupboards and temperamental second-hand appliances. Near this was a little wooden table, around which were two chairs. Arthur has covered the walls with framed prints – charity shop finds, all of them – to try to breathe some life into his miserable abode, but they only served to give the place an air of a sleazy hotel room.

He dragged himself over to the kitchen area, putting the kettle on and pouring himself a bowl of cereal. Once his breakfast was ready he took it over to the table, casting aside the mess of overdue bills and overflowing ashtrays.

Arthur would be the first to admit that his bedsit was a million miles away from the sort of accommodation he had grown accustomed to over the course of his life. His first twenty three years had been years of privilege. His father, Uther Pendragon, was the owner of Pendragon Haulage – a lucrative local business. This had meant that Arthur had been brought up in a large, luxurious house, in the very best part of Camelot.

Uther had raised Arthur alone, as his mother Ygraine had died in childbirth, but he’d made sure to give Arthur everything he wished for – apart from a close father-son relationship. Indeed, Uther had been so preoccupied with his business that Arthur had seen more of the various nannies who had been employed to look after him over the years.

By the time he got to school, Arthur was very spoilt. He fell in with the ‘popular’ crowd and was the object of desire of the entire female population (and, unbeknown to him, a fair number of the male population) of his school – including the teachers. However, Arthur had never made any _true_ friends, and this was something he was most definitely feeling the consequences of now.

He’d never taken his studies very seriously, preferring to focus his energies on playing for the school rugby team and partying instead. Despite this, he _did_ manage to walk away from secondary school with seven GCSEs, and even went on to get three A Levels at college. He could have gone on to university, if he’d really wanted to.

But Arthur had chosen the easy route: he went into the family business. His motives were simple: he wanted a well-paid, fairly high-ranking job – without the inconvenience of having to work for it. He had also hoped to get closer to his father by working for him, but Uther was always too busy to deal with someone as insignificant as him.

Looking back, Arthur now realised just how reckless he’d been by pinning all of his hopes on working for his father. But then, he’d had no reason to suspect that his circumstances would change quite as drastically as they had. Life had thrown him a curveball, and Uther had made it perfectly clear just where he stood on the situation.

So, that was how Arthur had found himself losing a good, well-respected job; stuck with no references, no money to spend on decent accommodation and no hope for the future. Perhaps this job with the mysterious Merlin Emrys would change all that. Perhaps _he_ was the catalyst to Arthur’s new life, free from the influence of his father.

Arthur looked across the room, at a clock which was hanging on the opposite wall. He had an hour before he was expected at Emrys Studios. He supposed that he had better shower and attempt to make himself appear more human before he left.

His eyes wandered over to a picture frame which was hung near the clock. It contained a photograph of him with Guinevere; they were laughing together at his twenty first birthday party. She was leaning on his arm and gazing up at him. Arthur tried to ignore the all too familiar pang of guilt, quickly looking away from the picture. He shuffled towards his bathroom, in search of the small haven that its cramped and often unreliable shower offered him.

 ****

Exactly one hour later, Arthur was standing on the doorstep of Emrys Studios. He pressed the doorbell and winced at the sound of its ringing, which rattled around his skull.

From within the studio there came a call of: “Coming, coming! Just wait a minute!”

Arthur waited awkwardly outside the door for a few minutes. Eventually, Merlin appeared, his hair still wet from the shower and his clothes sticking to his damp skin. He was still buttoning up his shirt. Arthur pointedly tore his eyes away from the sight of his exposed chest.

Merlin, unaware of just how uncomfortable Arthur was becoming, greeted him with a bright “Good morning!”

Arthur tried to muster up a cheery response, but all he managed was a grimace, followed by a grunt of “Mmm-hmm.”

Merlin’s face fell. “You’re hungover,” Suddenly, he leaned towards Arthur, inhaling deeply. “And you’ve been smoking.”

“Er…yes…” Arthur confirmed hesitantly.

Merlin gazed searchingly at him. “You don’t strike me as someone who does these things for enjoyment. What are you running away from, Arthur?”

“I’m sorry.” he apologised pathetically.

“You’re not exactly creating a very _professional_ picture of yourself, are you, Arthur Pendragon? It’s your first day in my employment and you’ve turned up in _this_ state! Give me one good reason why I should even let you in.” Merlin demanded.

“Because…I _am_ sorry. And I _need_ this job – more than anything. It’s all I’ve got. I need it to keep a roof over my head,” Arthur told him desperately. “Please – let me in.”

Arthur felt a pang of shame as he saw pity softening Merlin’s face. This was soon quelled by relief, though, as Merlin relented: “Okay, okay. You’d better come in, I suppose.”

“Thank you.” Arthur breathed, following Merlin to his studio space.

Once they had arrived, Merlin indicated at the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable.”

As Arthur slumped onto the sofa, Merlin set up his easel opposite him. “You’re going to paint me like _this?”_ Arthur asked incredulously. “I’m a complete mess.”

“Thus, you make an intriguing subject,” Merlin answered coyly. “Besides, I’ve got to get my money’s worth out of you. Didn’t your father make you sing for your supper at Pendragon Haulage?”

Arthur slid further down the sofa. “You read my CV.”

“Well, you _gave_ it to me,” Merlin pointed out. “What _else_ was I supposed to do with it – use it as fire-paper?”

“That’s all it’s good for.” Arthur said miserably.

“Open your eyes for me? Yeah, that’s great,” Merlin directed him, before continuing with his line of enquiry. “So – why _did_ you leave Pendragon Haulage?”

Arthur’s reply was deliberately ambiguous. “My circumstances changed.”

Merlin frowned. “And you couldn’t even get a reference from your own father’s company?”

“Let’s just say that my father did not exactly approve of the changes to my circumstances.”

“How so?”

Arthur supposed that, since Merlin had given him a job, he owed him at least a partial explanation as to why he had left such a promising job so abruptly. “My father disowned me.”

Merlin stared off into the distance then, as though he were looking across Time itself. “Oh. I know how _that_ feels.”

“You do?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes – unfortunately. My mother wasn’t exactly supportive about the changes to _my_ circumstances.”

“And has she…does she support you now?” Arthur asked tentatively.

Merlin smiled wistfully. “Mostly, yes. It took her a while to get used to it at first, but we’re getting there. There _was_ someone who helped me to change her mind…a while ago.”

“Sounds like a good guy.”

“He did _seem_ to be. At first, anyway. But then…well – it’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it _always?”_ Arthur sighed.

“It _shouldn’t_ be, though. You should be able to find someone who you love and who loves you back, and you should be allowed to live in peace, without people judging you. Or themselves,” Merlin declared. “I’m sick of dealing with hate, just because I’m not what society terms as _‘normal’._ I’m expected to deal with the ignorance of _complete strangers,_ just because I’m attracted to other men. And it’s all very well people telling me ‘Stay strong, Merlin’, and ‘You’re better than them’, but I shouldn’t _have_ to be. It _does_ affect me, and it affects my relationships, and I’m sick to death of it. I didn’t _choose_ to be like this – but I don’t see why I should want to be any different.”

“It’s hard,” Arthur agreed, unable to look him in the eye. “It’s _so_ hard being someone who society – not to mention your own family – doesn’t want you to be.”

At that moment, Arthur shifted his position on the sofa. His shirt rose, revealing bruise-mottled skin. Merlin gasped, his hands trembling so much that he had to put his pencil down. “Who did this to you?”

“My friend, Percival,” Arthur revealed casually. It was only then that he noticed the state Merlin was in, prompting him to quickly add: “It’s fine, though – we were just boxing.”

“’Boxing’?” Merlin echoed. “Are you _sure?"_

“Yes – that’s all that happened,” Arthur assured him, standing up and going over to him. “Come on – sit down. I’ll – I’ll make you a tea.” He led Merlin to the sofa, sitting him down gently.

“I like my tea strong – no sugar.” Merlin told him quietly.

“Strong – no sugar,” Arthur repeated. “When I come back, you can tell me all about it – if you want.”

“I do,” Merlin murmured. “I can’t keep it inside anymore.”

Arthur squeezed his shoulder on the way out. “I’ll be back soon.” he promised.

****

Arthur was still shocked by what Merlin had told him three hours later, when he was on his way to Percival’s garage. He now understood why Merlin presented such a strong, independent front to the world: he was scared of history repeating itself.

What Arthur now knew of Merlin’s past angered him. He was consumed by the inexplicable urge to protect Merlin; to stand between him and any harm that the world may wish to inflict upon him. Something greater than his sense of honour drove this desire, but he was afraid to name it. He couldn’t face the implications.

Arthur found a welcome distraction from these troubling thoughts, once he arrived at Percival’s garage, in the form of Gwaine. His friend was lounging on a deck-chair, his long brown hair splayed out behind him, basking in the sun. There was a cigarette between his lips. He took a long, lazy drag, before he noticed Arthur approaching.

Arthur jumped as Gwaine turned his head and his wounds came into view. “Leaves a nasty legacy, doesn’t it, hate?” Gwaine tried to say casually, but Arthur couldn’t help but notice the troubled look in his eyes. He nodded awkwardly in response.

Gwaine stubbed his cigarette out on the ground and beckoned Arthur. “Come on – come over here.”

Uncertainly, Arthur obeyed.

“Touch it.” Gwaine commanded him.

“Won’t – won’t I hurt you?” Arthur asked uncertainly.

Gwaine shrugged. “Probably. But I want you to understand…you need to know.”

Arthur let Gwaine take his hand and run it slowly over the left side of his face. He felt the broken skin; the rough stitches; the swelling of Gwaine’s eyelid. 

Gwaine let go of his hand. “That’s what it feels like. That’s hate. And it’s what Percival and I face _every day,_ just for being together. You need to understand that Arthur, because if you –”

Arthur held his hand up. “Enough, Gwaine! I am sorry that Valient did this to you – _truly,_ I am. I _am_ ashamed that you and Percival – my only friends – have to go through this. But I draw the line at you bringing me into this, and you _know_ why.”

Arthur hadn’t noticed that Percival had emerged from the garage, until he spoke. “Don’t let your father live your life for you, Arthur.”

“That’s the problem – he’s not letting _anyone_ live his life, Perce,” Gwaine sighed. “He’s not even living it _himself._ What does he do, eh? He wakes up in that bedsit every morning; goes to Lou’s; mills over the jobs section of the Camelot Chronicle; makes job applications and doesn’t even get the shittiest of jobs. And _then_ he comes down here, to take his anger out in the ring. What sort of a life is _that?”_

“It’s _my_ life,” Arthur replied tersely. “And I _have_ a job, thank you very much. Your boyfriend here must have neglected to tell you.”

“I’ve been a little busy caring for him,” Percival hissed, through gritted teeth. “He’s been a complete _diva!”_

“Me? A ‘diva’? _Never!”_ Gwaine protested, with faux innocence, before asking Arthur: “So, what’s this job, then?”

“I’m doing some modelling for a local artist.”

Gwaine guffawed. “Arthur Pendragon, a _model,_ eh? Never thought I’d live to see the day! Mind you, you’re pretty enough.”

“Hey!” Percival complained, pretending to be hurt.

“Oh, you’re beautiful, and you know it.” Gwaine assured him slickly, getting up from the deckchair and kissing him.

Arthur stared down at his feet whilst Percival and Gwaine embraced. He was completely supportive of their relationship – he would willingly defend them against any gay-basher, whatever the cost – but seeing them together was a reminder of what he was missing out on himself. He was alone; he didn’t have anyone to come home to. Although he would never admit it, he was envious of Gwaine and Percival’s relationship.

“You are _not_ taking part in the next fight.” Percival told Gwaine firmly.

Arthur looked up at them. They still had their arms around one another, but at least he didn’t have to watch them kissing anymore.

“I can get fit in time,” Gwaine insisted. “You don’t _have_ to wrap me up in cotton wool.”

“Yes, I do. I’m not going to let you rush your recovery for the sake of making some extra money. We can get by for the next month, even on Uther’s stingy wages. You are _not_ fighting.”

“You can’t stop me.” Gwaine muttered darkly.

“If you fight, you’re on the sofa for a whole month.” Percival threatened him.

“You’re _cockblocking_ me?” Gwaine asked, completely aghast.

“Only if you fight.”

Gwaine’s desperation made Arthur take pity on him. “I’ll do it,” he resolved. “I’ll fight in his place.”

“Are you _sure,_ Arthur?” Percival demanded. “You _know_ the implications.”

“I need the extra money.”

Percival nodded. “Right. Okay. We’d better get training, then. Gwaine, you can _watch only.”_

Within two hours, Arthur was back at his bedsit, with a new collection of bruises – including a black eye – as well as a few cuts.

He dragged himself over to his laptop to check his emails. There, in his inbox, was an email from his father. He clicked on it.

 _‘Arthur,’_ it read. _‘I trust you have put further thought into what we discussed prior to your untimely departure from Pendragon Haulage._

_I am emailing you as a reminder that my terms still stand. If you meet them, I shall be only too happy to restore you to your former position._

_Uther Pendragon,_

_CEO, Pendragon Haulage’_

Hesitantly, Arthur deleted the email. He was finding it harder to do so every time.

****

After deleting his father’s email, Arthur emailed Merlin.

 _‘Merlin,’_ he wrote. _‘I’ve been boxing with my friend Percival again and have sustained further injuries, including a black eye. I understand that you probably do not wish to work with me whilst I am in such a state. Therefore, I am willing to take time off – without pay, of course – until my injuries heal. I hope that this will not be a problem in regards to me working with you in the long run, as I have thoroughly enjoyed my time with you so far._

_Yours,_

_Arthur Pendragon._

Merlin replied instantly:

_‘Arthur,_

_I’ve got no problem ‘working with you’ whilst your injured – I’m a big boy. Thank you for your concern, though – it means a lot._

_Love,_

_Merlin’._

As soon as he had sent the email, Merlin regretted signing off with ‘Love’, but there was no going back now.

Arthur’s reply took ten long minutes to come:

_‘I look forward to seeing you tomorrow._

_Love,_

_Arthur’._

Both men stared at their computer screens for over an hour that night, contemplating all of the possible meanings behind that little word they had both used.

****

As soon as Arthur rang the doorbell of Emrys Studios the next morning, the door was yanked open. Merlin stood there beaming at him. “You’re a total mess!”

“Thanks.” Arthur grunted.

Merlin put his nose to Arthur’s neck and sniffed. “And you’ve been _smoking_ again.”

“Yes, I have. So what?” Arthur replied curtly.

 _“So,_ it’s bad for your health,” Merlin told him, rummaging in his trouser pocket and pulling out a little box, which he opened. He removed its contents, rolled Arthur’s shirt sleeve up and stuck something onto his arm. “You’re giving up.”

“What’s _that?”_ Arthur demanded, glaring at the sticky circle on his arm.

“A nicotine patch,” Merlin revealed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve bought you a whole supply. If you care for your health, you’ll try them.”

“Who says that I _do?”_ Arthur retorted irritably.

Merlin rolled his eyes, pulling Arthur over the threshold of the studio and shutting the front door behind him. “Well, you _should._ What harm could it do to try to give up? I’ve bought all the patches for you, so it’ll save you money.”

“Fine!” Arthur sighed. “I’ll try.”

“Great!” Merlin exclaimed. “Now, let me have a look at that face.”

He led Arthur to the studio space and pushed him down onto the sofa. Then he took Arthur’s face in his hands and peered closely at it. “Cuts around the left eye, and the obvious black eye,” He lifted Arthur’s shirt up next. “Hmm…I can’t see properly. You’ll have to take this off. And your trousers.”

“Wha-what?” Arthur spluttered.

“Shirt! Trousers! Off!” Merlin ordered.

“Er…okay…” Arthur rose from the sofa and stripped uncertainly.

When Arthur was standing in just his boxers, Merlin recommenced his examination of him. “Well, your legs are fine. More than fine, actually. Good, strong pair of legs.” he commented, patting Arthur’s legs. “Bruising around the ribcage – must be sore.”

“It _is,”_ Arthur grimaced. “Very sore. Very, _very_ sore.”

“Alright – don’t overegg it,” Merlin grinned. Arthur could have sworn that - for a split second - he had seen Merlin wink. “Lay down on the sofa and I’ll be right with you.”

Arthur lay on the sofa, feeling extremely exposed, waiting for Merlin’s return.

Merlin came back a few minutes later, with some ice-blocks wrapped in tea towels and a tube of Savlon spray. He handed Arthur the ice-blocks. “Here – put these on your ribs. It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.”

Arthur groaned in contentment at the sensation of the ice on his bruises. Merlin was brushing his hair aside. _‘That feels nice.’_ Arthur thought blissfully.

Much to Arthur’s dismay, the brushing soon stopped. Merlin was taking the top off of the tube of Savlon and saying the ominous words: “This won’t hurt a bit.”

Arthur caught Merlin’s wrist firmly as he went to spray the Savlon. “You’re lying.”

“Of _course_ I’m lying – I’m trying to reassure you!”

“Well, if you want to reassure me…”  Arthur released Merlin’s wrist, taking his free hand tightly. “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t” Merlin promised, looking slightly bemused. He sprayed the Savlon onto Arthur’s wounds. Arthur winced and writhed, but Merlin didn’t let go of his hand – even though Arthur’s grip was becoming painful. “All done.” he smiled, casting the Savlon aside.

“How do I look?” Arthur asked.

“Beautiful." Merlin replied, only half joking. Arthur had still not let go of his hand.

“You’re very good at tending to wounds.” Arthur observed.

“Well, I’ve had plenty of practise.” Merlin told him sadly.

“Yes, I suppose you have.” Apparently subconsciously, Arthur had begun to stroke Merlin’s hand.

Merlin tore his hand from Arthur’s. Arthur jumped, having seemingly been unaware that he had still been holding onto it.

“Right – I’m going to get my camera and take a few photos of you.” Merlin resolved.

Whilst Merlin was gone, Arthur quickly pulled his clothes back on. Merlin soon returned with the camera, took a few pictures of Arthur and then declared: “Okay, that’s enough for today. I can make a few sketches from these later.”

Arthur’s face fell. “You want me to leave _already?”_

“Yes,” Merlin replied. “But with me. You see, part of the bond I share with my muse is that we have an understanding of each other’s lives, beyond the art. So _today,_ I’m going to share a day of _my_ life with you – and tomorrow, you’re going to share a day of _your_ life with _me.”_

“Oh, _my_ life is not really that interesting…” Arthur insisted, thinking of the squalor of his bedsit.

 _“You’re_ in it, and I find you _very_ interesting…”

“If you _insist.”_

“I do.”

“Fine!” Arthur agreed reluctantly.

“Thank you,” Merlin grinned. “Come on, then – it’s time for you to spend a day in the life of Merlin Emrys, you lucky man.” 

****

“Are you hungry?” Merlin asked, as soon as they had walked out of the front door to Emrys Studios.

“No.” Arthur lied.

The truth was that he was running low on food and, having just paid his rent, he didn’t have enough money to buy any more at the moment. His first pay day wasn’t for another three weeks.

Merlin didn’t look at all convinced. Arthur’s stomach chose that moment to rumble treacherously, so Merlin grabbed his arm and led him into the vegan café next door to the studio.

Once they were inside, a waitress immediately pounced on them. Arthur ignored her, surveying his surroundings. The café was large and airy, with fresh green walls, glass tables and plastic pod chairs. However, what he was more interested in was the whiteboard behind the counter, upon which the menu was displayed. His eyes widened as he read the prices of each of the meals. He leant towards Merlin and murmered in his ear: “Er…I’m sorry, but I can’t afford these prices.”

Merlin ignored him. “A table for two, please.” he asked the waitress.

Arthur reluctantly allowed himself to be led to a table. Once the waitress had left them alone, he repeated: “I can’t afford this.”

“Don’t worry – it’s my treat.” Merlin assured him.

“No – it’s fine, _really._ I’ll eat later.” Arthur replied hastily.

“I’m paying for your meal,” Merlin insisted firmly. “I can tell just by looking at your complexion that you haven’t eaten properly for a while. Artists notice these things.”

Arthur looked down at the table in shame. “It’s not by choice, I can assure you.”

Merlin reached out across the table to squeeze his hand. “I know. I understand – I _do._ I’m going to bring your payday forward. I’ll put the money in your account tonight. ”

“Oh, you don’t have to do _that –_ honestly. I’ll be fine. I can get along.”

“Arthur: I am your employer. You have been a good employee so far and I’ll pay you early if I want to.” Merlin declared.

“Okay then,” Arthur relented. “Thank you. _Really –_ it means a lot. If there’s anything I can do in return –”

“– Just keep up the good work,” Merlin broke in, not wanting to make Arthur any more embarressed than he already was. “Now, what’re you going to order?”

“Er…I’m not really too sure. Vegan cuisine isn’t exactly my thing.” Arthur confessed.

“I’ll order _for_ you, then.” Merlin resolved.

“Alright. Just – just…do me a favour?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t go for the peanut butter stew,” Arthur begged. “It sounds _revolting!”_

Merlin laughed “It isn’t actually, but I’ll go easy on you.”

The waitress returned at that moment, and Merlin placed their order: “Please may we have two glasses of dandelion and burdock and two veggie burgers?”

“Of course,” the waitress replied. “I’ll be over with your drinks in just a second.”

 _“‘Dandelion and burdock’?”_ Arthur echoed in disbelief, as soon as the waitress had left.

“It’s a surprisingly good combination – it’s a classic,” Merlin said defensively. “Just give it a chance!”

 _“Fine!”_ Arthur sighed. “So, what are our plans for today?”

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t know – I don’t like to plan things too rigidly. Plans confine me. I s’pose we could catch a film at a cinema near here.”

“Will it be an arty farty film?” Arthur demanded.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Merlin teased. “This is a day in _my_ life – not _yours._ You’ll get the chance to take me wherever you like tomorrow.

The waitress came back with their drinks. Arthur stared at his glass uncertainly, and Merlin gave him an encouraging look. “Go on, then – drink it!”

Arthur raised the glass to his lips, closed his eyes and took a sip.

“Well?” Merlin asked eagerly.

“It’s not too bad.” Arthur admitted.

Merlin grinned triumphantly. “You see – it’s _not_ such a terrible thing to try something that’s out of your comfort zone.”

“I suppose it isn’t,” Arthur smiled. “So – tell me about yourself, Merlin Emrys.”

“Well, my name is Merlin Emrys –” he began awkwardly.

“– Well _that’s_ new information!” Arthur snorted.

Merlin continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted: “– I’m twenty four years old and I’m an artist. I’ve always been interested in art – I studied a GCSE and an A-Level in it and I would have probably gone on to study it at university, but I couldn’t really afford it. I had to look after my mum, anyway – she was ill at the time. So I helped out at my Uncle Gaius’ pharmacy for a couple of years. My mum got better eventually, and my uncle bought me my studio as a thank you for all I did for his business. I owe everything I have to him. I’ve made my name on the local art scene and had my work shown at some pretty decent galleries here in Camelot. I’m lucky enough to make enough money to make my art my profession.”

“And is there anyone in your life?” Arthur asked hesitantly.

“Why?”

Arthur immediately apologised: “I’m sorry – that was intrusive. It’s none of my business. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“But you _did_ say something,” Merlin pointed out. “I suppose there’s no harm in answering you – I trust you, after all. Nope, there’s no man on the scene. I’m single. I have been since…well…”

“I understand.”

“Yeah, well, someone will come along one day, I’m sure, and it’ll all be okay again.” Merlin said, far too brightly.

“I’m sure they will.”

There followed an awkward silence, which was eventually broken by the arrival of their meals. Merlin watched eagerly as Arthur took a bite of his veggie burger. “What do you think?”

“It’s okay, I suppose,” Arthur replied, not sounding overly convinced. “I prefer beef burgers, though. A veggie burger’s a poor substitute for real meat, in my opinion. But each to their own, I suppose.”

Merlin got the distinct impression that Arthur was not just talking about burgers. “Well, that’s… _interesting._ Consider your preferences duly noted.”

“I can – I can make do, though.” Arthur quickly insisted.

Merlin smiled sadly at him. “Ah, but _‘making do’_ will never lead you to true happiness, Arthur. You and I both know that.”

“Yes, we certainly do.” Arthur muttered under his breath, staring at his hands uncomfortably.

“Tell me: were you popular with all the girls at school?”

Arthur smirked at that. “You _could_ say that.”

“I _did_ have you pinned down as something of a _‘babe magnet’,”_ Merlin acknowledged. “Did you have any girlfriends?”

Arthur nodded. “One. Her name was Guinevere, and she deserved _far_ better than me.”

“What happened?”

Arthur’s answer was evasive: “We broke up. It didn’t work out. These things happen.”

Merlin noticed that Arthur had become tense. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine. I just…I don’t like thinking about that part of my life.”

“Because of your father?” Merlin guessed.

“Precisely.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I have ‘Daddy issues’ too,” Merlin revealed. “I didn’t know my father until a couple of years ago. Meeting him was amazing. He accepted me for who I am, which meant a lot at the time, because my mum was still having trouble dealing with everything at the time. But he died just a month after I met him, before I got a chance to get to know him properly. I would do anything to have had more time with him.”

“I know the feeling.” Arthur told him quietly.

“Perhaps we have more in common than we first thought.” Merlin suggested, with a coy smile.

“Perhaps we do.” Arthur agreed.

They had finished their meal, so Merlin called the waitress over and paid the bill. Arthur thanked him self-consciously, but Merlin just shrugged it off.

Arthur soon found himself being led to a little cinema, which was showing films he had never heard of. Merlin bought them tickets to a film called ‘Foster’, and Arthur followed him to the cinema’s only screen – a small, dingy room, with threadbare seats and the scent of stale popcorn. They were the only people in there.

They sat together in the middle row, resting their feet on the tops of the empty seats in front.

The film turned out to be a tear-jerker. It was about a couple who were going through the loss of their son and the possible closure of their business. Their world was turned upside-down by the arrival of a peculiar little boy called Eli. At the end, Arthur hid his face in his hands and sobbed. Merlin wrapped his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and murmured in his ear: “It goes to show how much difference one person, who arrives unexpectedly in your life, can make. They can change your world forever.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed, gazing at him. “Yes, they most certainly can.”

Unaware of what he was doing, Arthur leant in towards Merlin. Their faces were just inches apart. His breath hitched as he inhaled Merlin’s heady scent of tea and paint. He closed his eyes and inclined his head, weaving a hand into Merlin's messy brown hair.

From the back of the screen, a man cleared his throat. Merlin and Arthur instantly sprang apart. “Um…I’m sorry to interrupt – it’s just that I need to get this screen ready for the next film.” the man explained.

“Er…of course. You…er…you weren’t interrupting anything.” Arthur replied, leaving the cinema as fast as he could without running.

Merlin followed in his wake, caught up with Arthur and spun him around to face him. “He _was_ interrupting, Arthur, and you _know_ it.”

“What’s next?” Arthur asked quickly, his voice high-pitched and his eyes fixed on the pavement below him.

“Arthur!” Merlin exclaimed. “You _can’t_ deny what just happened!”

“But _nothing_ happened,” Arthur pointed out “That man made sure of _that._ It’s not important, anyway – I was just emotional from the film. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Merlin muttered bitterly.

“So – what’s next?” Arthur persisted.

“Next, Mr Pendragon, I shall take you for a walk in the park.” Merlin replied, linking his arm with Arthur’s.

They soon found themselves at the local park: an expanse of grass, trees, benches and not a lot else. They strolled over to a spot beside a stream, sitting down at nearby bench. Merlin took a small notepad and a pencil out of his jacket pocket and began to sketch.

Arthur watched a squirrel jumping through the trees and lost himself in his thoughts. If that man hadn’t interrupted them at that moment, what would have happened? Would he _really_ have kissed Merlin: Merlin, who had only been in his life a matter of days; Merlin, his _boss;_ Merlin, who was a _man…?_

The squirrel disappeared out of sight, and Arthur returned his attention to Merlin. He gasped as he saw that he had sketched a near-perfect replica of the stream they were seated beside. “How do you _do_ that?”

“I just draw it,” Merlin said casually. “I can show you, if you like. Come over here.”

Arthur sidled closer to Merlin, who turned to a fresh page in his notebook and handed Arthur his pencil. He took Arthur’s hand in his and guided it across the page, murmuring instructions to him. Arthur watched in awe as a work of art formed under their hands.

“That’s _amazing!”_ he breathed, once the picture was finished. “You make it seem so easy!”

“It _is,_ once you’re in the right frame of mind. Keep that picture as a reminder.” Merlin tore the sketch out of the notebook and gave it to Arthur, who carefully placed it in his shirt pocket. He felt the paper crinkle against his chest.

For some reason, Arthur’s head was swimming. Perhaps it was hunger: after all, he'd hardly found that veggie burger to his taste. He was dimly aware that Merlin was saying: “The whole world can be made into a work of art, if you look at it in the right way. The beauties and horrors of the world – they can all be captured in art.” Arthur’s only reply was a dazed nod, prompting Merlin to declare: “Come on – let’s get you home. You’ve had enough excitement for _one_ day.”

Arthur just nodded again. He was still preoccupied with his thoughts when he and Merlin came to cross the road. All he knew was that one minute he was one the pavement, stepping out into the road, and the next, a woman was screaming and he was falling to the ground, underneath somebody’s body weight. “Wh-wh-what?” he stammered.

“ARTHUR, WOULD YOU _LOOK WHERE YOU’RE GOING?”_ Merlin shouted, his face so close to Arthur’s that Arthur felt his spit washing over his face.

Arthur then realised that he was lying on the pavement, in Merlin’s arms. Merlin had been on top of him; he had now rolled over, so that he was beside Arthur. He had still not released his grip on him. He must have thrown himself at Arthur, in order to prevent him from being hit by the car, which had now sped off. The car that Arthur hadn’t noticed before, absorbed as he had been by his thoughts. “You _saved my life!”_ he exclaimed, in total disbelief.

“Yeah, I did. Please don’t make me have to do it again.” Merlin pleaded.

“I – I won’t.”

“Are you okay?” Merlin asked him gently, getting up from the pavement and holding a hand out to him.

Arthur took Merlin’s hand and rose gingerly. “Yes – thanks to _you._ Thank you. _Thank you._ How can I _ever_ repay you?”

Merlin leant in and whispered in his ear: “Live your life, Arthur.”

And that’s when Arthur found himself holding Merlin close to him and kissing him like his life depended on it.


	2. Chapter 2

“I – I’m so sorry!” Arthur gasped, as soon as he had pulled away from Merlin.

“Don’t be,” Merlin smiled, caressing his face. “Really, you don’t need to be.”

Arthur abruptly stepped back from Merlin. “I should really go home.”

Merlin looked hurt. “Well, if you _really_ want to…”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, I do. I think I’ve had _quite_ enough excitement for one day.”

Merlin grinned. “I suppose you have. Well, I’ll call you a taxi – I’m not letting you walk home after your near-death experience.”

“I can’t afford a taxi,” Arthur said uncomfortably. “I’ll be fine walking – honestly.”

“No – it would put my mind at rest if you got a taxi. I’ll pay.” Merlin told him firmly.

“But you’ve already paid for my meal and cinema ticket today…” Arthur protested feebly.

“You are _not_ getting out of this, Arthur Pendragon – _I’m_ in charge today.”

“Fine,”Arthur relented. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Lend me your phone, then.”

Arthur obeyed, with a mutter of: “I don’t know _why_ you can’t just get your own…”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He dialled a number and called a taxi for Arthur.

Once Merlin had handed Arthur his phone back, they stood in an awkward silence. It seemed that, since their kiss seemed to be off-limits in terms of conversation topics, they had nothing to talk about. Arthur was grateful when the taxi arrived, ten minutes later.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Merlin asked, looking hopeful.

Arthur shook his head. “No, thanks – I’ll save the surprise of my _extremely_ humble abode for tomorrow.”

“Okay, then,” Merlin sighed. “Here – take this.”

Arthur took his taxi fare from Merlin, who pressed it into his hand and closed his fingers around it. His hand lingered over Arthur’s for a few seconds, and then he let go. He gave Arthur a quick, hesitant kiss on the cheek, before he turned and left.

Arthur ducked into the taxi, watching Merlin leave whilst he told the driver his address. He spent the whole journey replaying the kiss in his mind. It came back to haunt him in his sleep that night.

****

Arthur woke up at 6am the following morning; remembered that Merlin was to spend a day in his life that day and couldn’t get back to sleep after that. He groaned, retrieving his phone from the floor, where it had fallen during the night.

He had two texts: one from Percival; the other from Gwaine. He opened Percival’s first: _‘Where were u today? Missed valuable training session. U’d better have a damn good reason!!’_

He sighed, moving on to Gwaine’s text: _‘Missed u today, mate. Hoping u got as lucky as I did in your absence – LIVE a little, mate!!’_

Arthur sent the same generic reply to both of them: _‘So sorry about yesterday. Circumstances got in the way. Will be there today, usual time. Is it ok if I bring Merlin?’_

Gwaine replied instantly: _‘Bloody hell – what’re u doing up THIS early? DID u get lucky?? ‘Course u can bring Merlin – would be good to meet him.’_

Arthur’s response was irritable and defensive: _‘I don’t know WHY you’d assume I ‘got lucky’, Gwaine. Expect us @ usual time.’_

Gwaine text back: _‘I’ll let Perce know. I don’t believe u, btw.’_

Arthur didn’t bother to respond. He looked around his dingy bedsit, wondering if he could bring himself to reveal its wonders to Merlin. He’d have to get some alcohol down him first. Did Merlin even drink?

He got out of bed; folded it up into the sofa and tried to artistically arrange his threadbare, charity-shop bought cushions. Then he made his way over to his cleaning cupboard, in the kitchen area. His dwindling supply of antibacterial spray was put to work on the kitchen surfaces; Arthur scrubbed them until his arms ached.

The tiny bathroom was his next target: he poured bleach down the toilet and cleaned the sink, bath and mirror obsessively.

When Arthur was finished in the bathroom, he turned his attentions to his table. Armed with a carrier bag, he threw out a pile of old newspapers and television guides. He also emptied out his ashtray, which he hid in his tea-towel drawer, along with his vast supply of unpaid bills. Arthur wiped the table down, before calling the hoover into action.

Arthur’s hoover – like most of his belongings – was old and unreliable. Whilst he attempted to hoover his tiny bedsit (he wasn’t very skilled at hoovering, since he had been accustomed to it magically being done by cleaners for most of his life) he was obliged to empty the hoover three times, after it lost suction and swearing at it didn’t turn out to be a viable solution.

Finally, Arthur’s bedsit was as presentable as he could make it. Arthur himself was caked in sweat, so he threw himself under his newly cleaned shower.

An agonising decision over what to wear followed. Of course, he ended up going with the first outfit he chose: a red t-shirt and dark blue jeans. Presentable, but not too dressy. After all, he didn’t want Merlin to get the wrong impression…

After a rushed breakfast, Arthur cleaned his teeth; then gathered up his wallet, jacket and keys. He was ready to go. He took a deep breath, opened the front door of his bedsit and journeyed to Emrys Studios, smelling vaguely of cleaning products. 

****

Arthur had a rough itinerary for the day planned out in his head. The idea of actually _following_ it terrified him, but he _had_ promised to share a day of his life with Merlin. After his reaction to what he now termed as ‘The Incident’ yesterday, he at least owed Merlin the truth.

One of Arthur’s main issues was whether or not he could actually afford to carry out his plans. Some of them _did_ involve money, after all, and there was no way Arthur was going to face the embarrassment of asking Merlin to pay for himself. It would seem dishonourable to do so, although (unless Arthur was been entirely honest with himself, which he didn’t make a habit of doing) he was unsure as to why.

On the way to Emrys Studios, Arthur stopped off at a cashpoint. As was his habit, he slowly and cautiously approached the machine, as if it were a deadly creature which could attack at any moment. Hesitantly, he pushed his bank card into the slot, half expecting the machine to swallow it up, never to be returned. Luckily, this didn’t happen.  The screen asked him to enter his pin, and – checking over his shoulder to ensure that nobody was looking to steal his meagre funds – Arthur punched the numbers in.

Now the screen was asking him what he wanted to do. The safest option was to press the button for a ‘Balance Enquiry’, and to face the inevitably depressing consequences. Arthur took a deep breath and pressed the button.

And there – on the screen – he saw a message telling him that he had £1859.23 in his account. Arthur laughed out loud, exclaiming: “Merlin Emrys, I could bloody _kiss_ you!” ‘Again’, he thought to himself. He looked over his shoulder again and found – to his immense relief – that he was still alone, and that there was no way that Merlin could have crept up behind him and overheard that _particular_ escaped thought. “After all, I mustn’t give him the wrong idea,” Arthur muttered to himself, taking money out of his account now. “Or myself.”

Arthur shook his errant thoughts out of his mind (or to the back of it, at least) and continued on his way to Emrys Studios.

****

From the fact that the front door to Emrys Studios was yanked open just seconds after Arthur rang the doorbell, it was clear that Merlin had been waiting by it. He greeted Arthur with a wide smile – _too_ wide – which was returned with a stiff nod.

Arthur cleared his throat. “So, er, are you ready?”

“Yes, I am.” Merlin replied eagerly.

“It’s…er…it’s…um…it’s not going to be anything fancy,” Arthur told the doorstep. “My life, I mean.”

“That doesn’t bother me in the least – _you’re_ going to be there. That’s all that matters to me.” Merlin assured him sincerely.

Arthur was terrified that this was going to lead to an awkward conversation about what had happened the previous day. Sure enough, Merlin began: “Look, about yesterday –”

“–Today is _my_ day,” Arthur interrupted quickly. “so let’s just focus on that, okay?”

“ _Arthur-”_

 _“_ –Come on – I’m going to take you to the most illustrious café in the whole of Camelot. The fry-up is simply to _die_ for. In fact, I probably _will_ die prematurely if I keep on eating it.” Arthur announced, a little too brightly.

To shut Merlin up, Arthur reached for his hand. Merlin flushed with pleasure. He stepped onto the doorstep with Arthur, shut the studio’s door and said: “Lead the way, then, Mr Pendragon.”

“Certainly, Mr Emrys.” Arthur smiled, with considerable effort.

As they walked to Lou’s Café, Arthur’s entire focus shifted to the hand which held Merlin’s. It seemed to store his heart and – annoyingly – his brain. His entire being was in that hand, and it was being held tenderly by Merlin.

Arthur dropped Merlin’s hand abruptly when they approached Lou’s Café. He held the door open for Merlin, waited for him to step inside and then followed him in.

“Arthur Pendragon – well I never!” Lou exclaimed, as soon as he clapped eyes on him. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen _your_ ugly mug round here!”

“It’s only been a few days.” Arthur corrected him. Could it really have only been that long? It felt like a lifetime since he had circled that advertisement in the Camelot Chronicle.

“Well, you were an everyday customer before,” Lou replied, looking wistful. “Hey, who’s your mate?”

“This is Merlin Emrys,” Arthur introduced him. “He’s the reason why I haven’t been here for a little while.”

“Oh, _right_ mate – good on you!” Lou winked.

“Er – he’s my employer,” Arthur clarified hastily. ‘My employer whom I kissed yesterday and am almost definitely hopelessly in love with.’ he added in his mind. “Merlin, this is the eponymous Lou.”

Merlin found his hand engulfed by Lou’s and shaken vigorously. “Good to meet ya, mate!” Lou grinned, winking again.

“Er…you too.” Merlin responded uncertainly.

“Anyway – can we get a table for two please, Lou?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah – you know the drill. Sit yourself down and give me a shout when you want to order.”

Arthur chose a table right at the back of the sparsely populated café. As they sat down, Merlin asked him: “What’s up – are you ashamed to be seen with me or something?”

Arthur frowned. “Whatever gives you _that_ idea?”

“The fact that you’re hiding at the back of this café and refusing to talk about what happened yesterday.” Merlin answered bluntly.

“Yesterday was yesterday. Today is _my_ day, and we’re following _my_ regime – not _yours.”_ Arthur insisted, retreating behind a menu to avoid seeing Merlin’s hurt expression.

Merlin reluctantly changed the subject. “What do you recommend from the menu, then?”

“Er…I don’t know. Lou doesn’t exactly cater for vegans, you see.”

“Good thing I’m not a vegan, then.” Merlin smiled.

“You’re _not?_ What about that café you took me to?”

Merlin shrugged. “It’s conveniently located for me. And I _like_ vegan food, anyway.”

“Right, well, like I said on the way, Lou’s speciality is his fry-up, if that wouldn’t be too insulting to your taste buds.”

“I _heard_ that!” Lou called out.

“It wasn’t a personal attack on you, I can assure you, Lou,” Arthur promised. “I was merely allowing for the fact that Merlin here is rather more sophisticated than your usual clientele.”

“Hey, if I can please _you,_ I can please _anyone,_ Mr Pendragon,” Lou taunted him. “Will it be two fry-ups, then?”

Arthur looked to Merlin for confirmation and – after Merlin nodded – replied: “Yes please, Lou. And two coffees.”

“So, just how much of a regular _are_ you to this place?” Merlin asked Arthur, whilst Lou worked on their order.

“Er…I used to come here every morning, before I got the job with you. I was lonely – _really_ lonely – and I was desperate for some human interaction.” Arthur confessed.

Merlin instinctively leant across the table, taking Arthur’s hand and squeezing it. “That’s so _sad.”_

“I suppose it _is,_ rather.” Arthur agreed awkwardly, quickly pulling his hand away from Merlin’s.

For some reason, Merlin looked close to tears. “Does _nobody_ talk to you?”

“No, not really. Only my friends Gwaine and Percival, since…well…”

“Since you came out.” Merlin finished for him.

“What makes you think that I _came out?”_ Arthur snapped. “I am _not_ gay.”

Merlin snorted. “Oh, so you just _fell_ on my lips yesterday, did you?”

“I – I – I’d just had a near-death experience! I was _bound_ to be a little out of sorts!”

Merlin fixed Arthur with a steady gaze, commanding his full attention. “Okay, Arthur – stop making pathetic excuses and _listen to me._ Your father disowned you because your ‘circumstances changed’. Your ex-girlfriend ‘deserved far better’ than you. You have absolutely _nothing_ to look forward to in life, but you don’t go out looking for women – not even for a one night stand. But I can tell that you’re _clearly_ lonely, so you _must_ be looking for _some_ sort of a relationship. So, why _are_ you denying yourself? I’ll _tell_ you why, shall I? Because you want a relationship with a man, but you still hope that your father will take you back – which he’ll _never_ do if you’re gay, for whatever perverse reason. Am I right?”

Arthur didn’t respond. He just stared down at the table, his face flushing and his eyes watering. Merlin could see his chest heaving as he struggled to gulp down air.

“Arthur: _am I right?”_ Merlin repeated gently, taking his hand again.

“Yes,” Arthur whispered, so quietly that Merlin had to read his lips to know what he was saying. “Yes, you are right.”

Arthur hid his face in his hands as his shoulders shuddered. Merlin got up and pulled Arthur up from his seat, into an embrace. He held Arthur close against him, Arthur’s tears soaking his top.

“Oh God, oh God!” Arthur was muttering. “This is all such a _mess!”_

“Ssh, ssh, it’s okay,” Merlin soothed him, stroking his hair. “It’s going to be alright. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Arthur.”

“That’s kind of the problem.” Arthur breathed.

“What?”

But before Arthur had to explain himself, he was saved by the sound of Lou approaching with their meals. He hastily disentangled himself from Merlin and sat back down. Reluctantly, Merlin also returned to his seat.

Lou placed the fry-ups and coffee in front of them, and they began to eat.

“Make sure you eat that quickly,” Arthur told Merlin. “There’s somewhere I want to take you next. Somewhere important.”

****

Arthur wouldn’t answer Merlin when he asked were they were going. He just told him to follow him; lead him onto a bus and paid for his ticket.

“This bus goes to the outskirts of Camelot.” Merlin said, looking at the bus-stop out of the window, once they were seated.

“Yes, it does.” Arthur confirmed.

“So…we’re going to the outskirts of Camelot?” Merlin checked.

Arthur sighed. “Obviously.”

“You’re _still_ not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”

Arthur smirked. “You’re learning fast, Merlin.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should teach you a thing or two about treating your employer with a little _respect,_ Mr Pendragon.”

“I’m sure you could teach me _plenty_ of things, Mr Emrys.” Arthur replied coyly, before he could stop himself.

The silence that followed this comment was extremely uncomfortable for both parties. Arthur filled it by turning bright red and staring at the floor, whereas Merlin opted for drumming his feet on the ground like he was auditioning for ‘Riverdance’. He irritated Arthur so much that Arthur risked putting his hand firmly on Merlin’s knee to restrain him. A lingering gaze passed between them.

Just when Arthur felt like he couldn’t bear the sight of Merlin’s scrutinising expression any longer, the bus stopped. “This is our stop.” he declared, jumping up and getting off the bus as quickly as possible, without waiting for Merlin.

Merlin ran to catch up with Arthur, taking his place by his side. The bus had stopped near the entrance of a private road, and it was this road that they walked down.

The road was wide, with no pavements, meaning that they were walking at the edge of the road. This wasn’t dangerous to do, though – there were very few cars passing, as only the residents and their guests and employees frequented the road.

It was framed by large, proud oak trees and flanked by large gated compounds, each of which contained a grand, soulless mansion and so much land that at least one gardener was required for maintenance.

Arthur stopped outside of one of the gated compounds. Inside, there was a mansion, complete with ostentatious turrets. A slick silver Jaguar was parked in front of it – the sort that usually came with a chauffeur.

“This is my father’s house.” Arthur revealed quietly.

“It’s bloody palatial!” Merlin gasped.

Arthur nodded. “Yes – I was very privileged to live in such a house. My current residence is significantly less grand. In fact, it’s not grand at all.”

“Have you been here since…?” Merlin began to ask, before realising how tactless his question was.

“Since my father disowned me?” Arthur finished for him, not quite managing to sound impassive. “No, I haven’t. My father made it _perfectly_ clear that I am no longer welcome here.”

“And have you been in contact with him at all?”

“Not really. My father emails me, but they’re impersonal emails and I tend to delete them.” Arthur admitted.

“Do you think he’ll ever accept you?”

Arthur laughed bitterly. “My father? Go back on his convictions? No. No chance in hell. I’m going to have to make my own way in the world, without my father to help me along.”

Arthur looked up at the house and saw a glimpse of movement through a window. “Quick!” he hissed, stepping back and pulling Merlin out of sight with him. They found themselves half falling into the hedge surrounding Uther’s land. They crouched painfully, watching a car approaching the house. “That’s my father’s doctor!” Arthur realised, looking at the driver through the car window, as the car lay in wait for the heavy metal gates guarding Uther’s property to open.

“Are you sure?” Merlin asked.

“Yes – he used to be _my_ doctor, back when I could afford private healthcare,” Arthur replied. “Why is he on a house-visit to my father?”

“Obviously because he’s ill.” Merlin answered.

“I know _that!”_ Arthur retorted impatiently. “Honestly, Merlin – for a supposedly intelligent man, you _do_ come out with some stupid things!”

“Once again: show your employer some respect.” Merlin warned him tersely.

Arthur just rolled his eyes; then continued: “Whatever’s wrong with my father, it must be serious. He’d _never_ miss an opportunity to flirt with the receptionist at the doctor’s surgery.”

“Well – with all due respect – your father’s probably not going to tell you his full medical history as things stand between you right now,” Merlin pointed out. “There’s not much use in you speculating at the moment.”

“I suppose not,” Arthur agreed reluctantly. “Come on – let’s get out of here. I don’t _really_ fancy spending the day in a hedgerow. Besides, there’s somewhere near here I want you to see.”

Arthur stood up, held his hand out to help Merlin up (letting go of it at the very first opportunity) and led Merlin further down the road.

****

This time, Merlin did not inundate Arthur with questions about where they were going. From Arthur’s troubled expression and clenched hands, it was all too visible to him. He took one of Arthur’s hands, unclenching it and entwining his fingers with Arthur’s. Arthur gave him a small smile, squeezing Merlin’s hand gratefully. They continued on in silence.

Finally, Arthur stopped before a metal gate. The notice on it read: ‘The Saint Gerard Majella Cemetery’.

The cemetery was tucked away down a small private road, a ten minute walk away from Uther’s house. There was no living person in there.

Arthur pulled open the creaking metal gate and led Merlin to a gravestone, over which hung a weeping willow. Clouds floated across the sky, obstructing the sun.

Merlin read the marble gravestone:

_‘Ygraine Pendragon_

_Beloved wife and mother_

_1 st November 1963 – 22nd February 1989_

_After the winter, spring and new life will come’._

Arthur stroked the top of the gravestone tenderly. “Hello, mother.”

Merlin stole a glance at Arthur and noticed that his eyes were glistening with tears. “I don’t have any flowers.” Arthur told him, looking guilty.

Merlin quickly took out his sketchbook, drew a bunch of flowers and gave the page to Arthur. “Will this do?”

“How do you _do_ that?” Arthur gasped. “This is _beautiful,_ and you didn’t even spend a minute on it!”

“Practise.” Merlin replied modestly.

“Thank you,” Arthur said earnestly, propping the page up against his mother’s gravestone. "Er…so, this is my mother’s grave. She died when I was born.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Do you come to visit her often?” Merlin asked gently.

“Not as often as I would like to – only once a month. I always worry that my father will catch me here.” Arthur confessed.

“But you have every _right_ to visit her – she’s your mother, after all.”

“That’s not the way my father sees it,” Arthur sighed. “As soon as he found out…well, he said that my mother would have been ashamed of me and that I had ‘no business in coming to visit her’.”

“That’s outrageous!” Merlin exclaimed indignantly. “How _dare_ he decide what her opinion would have been? How does _he_ know?”

“He knew her better than _I_ did – she only got to hold me once, just before she died.”

Merlin took Arthur’s hand again and held it tightly. “Do you know much about her?”

Arthur looked down at their joined hands and smiled slightly, before answering: “Not much at all. My father always refused to talk about her, so I learnt all I could from our housekeeper, who had worked for him since he married my mother. She told me that my mother was renowned for her gentle and kind nature.”

“Well, there you go, then: your mother would never have _dreamed_ of treating you the way your father has.” Merlin said firmly.

“But I can’t help thinking…that she’d have been…ashamed of me.” Arthur gasped, overcome by tears.

Merlin put his arm around Arthur’s shuddering shoulders. “Arthur, she would have been proud of you, I’m sure. So, so proud. You may be a little lost right now, but you’re a good man. In fact, you’re one of the bravest and most noble men I’ve ever met.”

Arthur put his arms around Merlin and hid his face in Merlin’s shoulder. As Arthur sobbed, Merlin stroked his hair and murmured comforting words in his ear.

Eventually, Arthur took a deep breath, wiping his eyes and saying to Merlin: “I’m sorry – that’s the second time I’ve cried like a baby on you today.”

“That’s okay,” Merlin smiled. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Thank you.” Arthur smiled back.

“That’s okay,” Merlin repeated, taking Arthur’s face in his hands and wiping some left-over tears from his eyes. “That’s absolutely fine. Are you okay now?”

“Yes, I am,” Arthur replied. “Actually, I couldn’t be better.”

The sun emerged from behind the clouds, shining down on them. Arthur abandoned all of his inhibitions for a few golden moments, kissing Merlin tenderly under the willow tree.

****

Within half an hour, Merlin and Arthur were on another bus. This time, Arthur told Merlin where they were going.  “We’ll get back to central Camelot, grab something to eat quickly and make our way to my friend Percival’s place. It’s nowhere fancy, but I spend most of my time there to be honest with you.”

“It’ll be good to meet your friends.” Merlin smiled.

“Yes, well, since Gwaine and Percival are the only ones I have left, you can get the ‘meeting of the friends’ bit over and done with fairly quickly.” Arthur replied, with a little too much bravado.

From the way Arthur was speaking, Merlin couldn’t help but wonder if they had made the leap from employer and employee to friend to…well…more than friends, whatever _that_ meant. He went through a mental checklist: they’d held hands; kissed – _more_ than once – and he’d sort of met Arthur’s parents…So, what exactly _were_ they?

Merlin decided to test the water a little, by resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder. Despite the fact that they were on public transport – where _anyone_ could have seen them – Arthur made no protest about this. In fact, he weaved his fingers into Merlin’s hair and started fondling it absentmindedly. He was either completely oblivious to the tutting and disapproving looks he was garnering from the old lady opposite them, or he simply didn’t care. Merlin hoped for the latter option to be true.

The bus pulled up at their stop and Arthur tool Merlin to a fish and chip shop, where he bought a huge bag of chips for the pair of them to share. “Whoever said romance was dead?” Merlin teased him, popping an oily chip into his mouth.

“You are very welcome to abstain, Lord Emrys,” Arthur retorted. “I’d be _more_ than happy to polish these off alone.”

“Ah, but I wouldn’t want you to lose your _magnificent_ figure, now, would I?”

Arthur laughed. “I suppose not – I wouldn’t be such a good muse if I couldn’t fit in the studio.”

“You’ll _always_ be the best muse I’ve ever had – and I’ve had some pretty good muses. You fascinate me, Arthur.”

Arthur gulped as Merlin seductively sucked a chip into his mouth. He quickly thought of the image of his father wearing a pair of Speedos…an infallible method for getting himself out of awkward situations regarding his nether regions. He winced, then spent a great deal more of his attention on eating his chips and navigating the way to Percival’s garage.

Finally, they reached the garage’s peeling red door. Arthur banged his fist on the door; a metallic clang reverberated around the alleyway. After a few seconds, Arthur pressed his ear to the door. He regretted this decision instantly because he heard grunts and groan coming from within the garage, as well as an exclamation of _“Shit!_

“Er…just a moment!” Percival called. Arthur exchanged an awkward glance with Merlin. When Percival eventually lifted up the garage door, his clothes had obviously been hastily pulled on and his breathing was a little erratic. Gwaine stood close behind him, in the same dishevelled state. He gave Arthur a sly wink.

“Sorry for the wait,” Percival apologised. He looked past Arthur and noticed Merlin hovering behind him. “You must be Merlin – we’ve heard a lot about you.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes at Arthur. “Oh, really?”

“All good, I can assure you,” Percival smiled. He held his hand out. “I’m Percival, and this is my boyfriend Gwaine.”

Merlin shook Percival’s hand, then Gwaine’s. “It’s good to finally meet you, mate.” said Gwaine.

“Don’t just _stand_ there, then – come in!” Percival exclaimed, ushering them inside. “Are you ready to go, Arthur?”

“Just let me get changed,” Arthur replied. “Have you still got some of my kit here?”

Percival nodded. “Yeah – in the cupboard at the back.”

“Take a seat,” Gwaine invited Merlin. “Fancy anything to drink?”

“Er…I’m alright, thanks.” Merlin answered.

Gwaine smiled at him knowingly, sitting down beside him on the sofa. “You’ll change your mind soon enough.”

“Don’t look over here – I’m going to get changed!” Arthur called out, from the back of the garage.

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause we _all_ know that if I get so much as a _glance_ of you in your tighty-whities I’ll be ditching Perce for you!”

“I do _not_ wear tighty-whities!” Arthur protested.

“Is he telling the truth?” Gwaine asked Merlin, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, he _is,_ actually.” Merlin grinned.

“Perce – I think it’s finally happened!”Gwaine hissed, when Percival came over to sit with them.

“I think you may be right,” Percival murmured. “Look after our boy, Merlin. He’s a bit of a prat, but his heart’s in the right place.”

“I’ll take good care of him,” Merlin vowed, casting a furtive glance at Arthur, who was in the process of pulling a top over his head.

“I’m ready, Percival!” Arthur said a few seconds later, stepping into the boxing ring.

Merlin spent the next few minutes watching Percival and Arthur boxing from between his fingers. His body was completely rigid and he had to remind himself to breathe.

“Changed your mind about that drink by any chance?” Gwaine smirked. Merlin managed to nod and Gwaine went to the fridge to hunt for a couple of beers. When he returned to the sofa, he passed one to Merlin and opened the other one, taking a long gulp. “Ah, that’s better!”

Merlin followed Gwaine’s lead, then told him: “I’m not usually much of a drinker, but this is pretty intense.”

“Yeah, it’ _s_ hard to see someone you… _care_ about getting the crap beaten out of them,” Gwaine agreed. “Even though I’m a bit of a boxer meself. If it wasn’t for the beer, I’d probably be running into that ring and tearing them apart right now.”

Over the next half an hour, Merlin made a significant dent in Gwaine and Percival’s beer supply. As soon as Arthur – covered in sweat and bruises – got out of the boxing ring, he noticed that Merlin wasn’t _quite_ himself. “Er…are you okay, Merlin?” he asked uncertainly.

Merlin looked at Arthur blearily. “Oh, it’s _you –_ Arthur Pendragon!” he exclaimed. “You’re a _great_ guy,Arthur! Did you _know_ that? You’re just a bit lost, that’s all. You need to ‘Believe in yourself, for that’s the place to start’!”

Arthur frowned. “Did you just quote the theme tune to ‘Arthur’ at me?”

“Well, you _are_ called Arthur!” Merlin pointed out. “You really are a _great, great, great_ guy, though, and I bloody love you, Arthur Pendragon.”

“Bloody hell – what have you _done_ to him, Gwaine?” Arthur demanded.

Gwaine held his hands up in mock-surrender. “Hey, it’s not _my_ fault your boyfriend’s a lightweight!”

Arthur glared accusingly at Gwaine. “How many has he had?”

“Just…nine.” Gwaine confessed quietly.

“ _Nine?”_ Arthur repeated, in total disbelief. _“NINE?”_

“That’s what I said _,_ isn’t it?” Gwaine retorted.

“Stop _shouting –_ you’re giving me a headache!” Merlin whined.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry Merlin,” Arthur sighed, before turning to Gwaine again, this time speaking in hushed tones. “How the _hell_ am I supposed to get him home? I haven’t got a car, the railway station’s nowhere _near_ here and there’s no _way_ I’m going to find a bus or a taxi driver willing to take him in _this_ state.”

“I would drive him to make up for the fact that it was my boyfriend here who got him hammered, but I had a few before you came. I’m over the limit, mate.” Percival grimaced.

“That’s great! Just _great!_ Thanks for nothing!” Arthur hissed.

“Hey – it’s not like I _forced_ him to drink all those beers!” Gwaine defended himself.

“But you didn’t tell him to slow down, either, did you?” Arthur accused him. “I’m going to have to walk him.”

“Do you want some help?” Percival offered.

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll walk him back alone.” Arthur replied, unwilling to accept help from Percival and Gwaine when he was so angry with them both. As far as he could see, Percival was guilty by association.

Percival at least had the grace to look guilty. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. You just look after Gwaine, okay?”

“Hey, _I_ can hold my alcohol!” Gwaine proudly proclaimed.

“Well done!” Arthur congratulated him sarcastically, before hauling a protesting Merlin up from the sofa. He put his arm around Merlin’s waist and held him tight. “Come on – let’s get you home. You’ve had enough excitement for _one_ day.”

Merlin responded by belching in Arthur’s face. Arthur rolled his eyes and began half guiding, half dragging him out of the garage.

It soon became clear that the amount of physical labour required to get Merlin home was probably the equivalent of a full work-out. He was pretty much a dead weight, giving Arthur very little help indeed. Thus, Arthur was being nothing but practical when he decided to take Merlin to his bedsit, rather than all the way to Emrys Studios. After all, he wasn’t even sure if Merlin _lived_ at Emrys Studios.

“Where are you _taking_ me?” Merlin slurred, when Arthur eventually pulled him through the front door of his bedsit.

“My place. There’s no _way_ I’m leaving you alone in _this_ state.”

Arthur placed Merlin carefully on a chair at his table for a moment, whilst he pulled his bed out. When he returned, Merlin had slid onto the floor. Arthur used the last reserves of his energy to lift Merlin up and place him in his bed. He took Merlin’s shoes and socks off and pulled the covers over him. Then he made the short journey to his wardrobe, from which he pulled out a slightly pungent trench coat, which had – in a previous life – been his ‘office coat’. He also retrieved his pyjamas and changed into them, before lying down on the floor, beside the bed, and settling himself under the trench coat.

“What are you _doing?”_ Merlin demanded irritably.

“Going to sleep,” Arthur replied curtly. “Just like you should be doing.”

Merlin rolled over to peer down at Arthur. “On the _floor?_ Under a _coat?”_

“Well, I’ve only got one bed and I don’t have any spare bedding either.” Arthur revealed self-consciously.

Merlin sighed melodramatically. “Just come here, you complete and utter _dollophead!”_

“Sh-sh-share a _bed_ with you?” Arthur stammered.

“Yeeees, _well done,_ Arthur! Hurry up – I’m knackered!”

“I’m not _surprised,_ considering all that alcohol Gwaine pumped into you!”

“Shut up and come to bed!” Merlin snapped.

Arthur uncertainly stood up, and Merlin pulled the covers aside, striking what he supposedly considered to be a sexy Roman-goddess-like reclining pose and promptly falling out of the bed. Arthur sighed, dragging Merlin back into the bed and climbing in with him, in much the same manner as he would have stepped into a steaming hot bath.

“Are you worried that things are going to get _intimate?”_ Merlin taunted him, realising that Arthur had distanced himself as far as was humanly possible from him in the cramped bed.

“Not at all – I would _never_ allow anything like that to happen with you like _this,”_ Arthur replied solemnly. “Besides, you absolutely _stink!”_

Merlin laughed. “So do _you,_ Muhammad Ali!”

“Shut up and go to sleep, Merlin.”

“Okay, Mr Angry Pants,” Merlin kissed Arthur on the lips, grinning sleepily as Arthur cringed at the stench of his breath. _“Goodniiiight!”_

“Yes, goodnight then.” Arthur responded stiffly.

Merlin closed his eyes, then wrapped his arms around Arthur. Arthur tried to liberate himself, but – conveniently – Merlin was already snoring. He spent at least ten minutes deliberating over what he should do with his own arms, before finally thinking “Oh, sod it!” and putting his own arms around Merlin. Just before he closed his eyes, he could have sworn that he’d seen a triumphant smile playing across Merlin’s lips.

****

The following morning, Arthur crept up to his bed, armed with a glass of water and a couple of Alka-Seltzer tablets. He knelt beside the bed and dropped the tablets into the water.

From deep within the bed-covers, Merlin groaned, the fizzing of the tablets in the water rousing him. He emerged from his duvet cocoon and stared up at the ceiling in confusion. “What on _earth…?”_

Arthur cleared his throat nervously and Merlin jumped, sitting up and gazing at Arthur incredulously.

From the horrified expression on Merlin’s face, Arthur very much hoped that he was remembering the events of the previous evening. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” he smirked.

“Er…yeah…good morning,” Merlin winced. “What time is it?”

“Ten o’clock,” Arthur replied, passing the glass to him. “Here, drink this –you look like you need it.”

“Cheers,” Merlin grimaced, taking the glass and downing the contents in one.

“I went to the shop across the road whilst you were passed out. So…if you can face breakfast, I’ve made French toast.”

“Oh, _wow,_ Arthur – I’m _impressed!”_ Merlin grinned.

“Well, I _do_ try,” Arthur said coyly. “I’ll…er…I’ll get you a black coffee as well.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Arthur made the coffee and prepared the rest of the breakfast things. He put everything on two trays and carried them over to the bed, passing one carefully to Merlin.

“This looks delicious!” Merlin exclaimed.

“Thanks,” Arthur smiled, self-consciously manoeuvring himself (and his tray) into the bed, beside Merlin. He told himself that he was only in bed with Merlin because it would have been awkward to sit at the table, having a conversation across the room. He was far from entirely sure that these were his true motivations, however.

“Seriously – how did you learn to cook like this?” Merlin asked.

“By needing to feed myself and having a lot of spare time due to unemployment.” Arthur admitted, looking more than a little ashamed.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to cook for me again!”

“Maybe not _here,_ though,” Arthur said, more to himself than to Merlin. “My kitchen’s not exactly ideal.”

For the first time, Merlin took a proper look at the bedsit. Arthur watched him nervously as he did so. Finally, Merlin gasped: “You live _here?”_

“Yes, I do. Have you got a problem with that?” Arthur demanded, tensing defensively – a reflex to confrontation that he had picked up from boxing.

“Yes, I _do,_ actually. I’ve seen _pigsties_ fitter for human habitation than this place!”

“Well I’m _sorry_ that I can’t afford a palace, Your Royal Highness!” Arthur snapped. “If this place isn’t good enough for you, I am _more_ than willing to escort you to the door!”

“Oh, come on – I didn’t mean to _offend_ you, Arthur,” Merlin sighed. He put his cutlery down for a moment so that he could reach beneath the covers and squeeze Arthur’s knee. “I’m just _worried_ about you, living in a dump like this. You’re clearly not happy here.”

“No, I’m not – far from it,” Arthur agreed, staring down at his French toast resolutely. “I hate this place – I really _do –_ but I can’t afford anywhere better. Besides, my landlady gives me good rates.”

“Well you’re going to have to give your notice to this landlady of yours as soon as possible.” Merlin declared.

Arthur rolled his eyes at him. “And where will you have me live, Merlin? In one of those palatial pigsties you’ve seen?”

“No, not in a pigsty,” Merlin took Arthur’s fork from him and tenderly held his hand. When he had Arthur’s full attention he revealed: “I want you to come and live with _me,_ Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to R for coming up with the beautiful quote on Ygraine's gravestone.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur didn’t respond to Merlin’s revelation for quite some time, apart from by staring at him in astonishment and freezing completely. Eventually, Merlin waved his hand in front of Arthur’s face. “Earth to Arthur Pendragon: can you hear me?”

Arthur jumped. “Er…yeah. I can hear you.”

_“So?”_

“Are – are you _serious,_ Merlin? I mean, we’ve only _known_ each other for five days.”

“Oh, I’m _deadly_ serious. I _know_ we haven’t known each other for very long, but this whole…thing…has been a complete whirlwind, so I don’t see why this should be any different. Besides, there’s no _way_ I’m going to just stand by whilst you live in _these_ conditions, Arthur.”

“This – this is _mental!”_ Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin nodded. “Yeah, I know. But when was the last time you actually _did_ something mental?”

Arthur thought for a while, before realising: “Actually, I’ve _never_ done anything mental. At least, not voluntarily.”

“So don’t you think it’s about time you did? Come _on,_ Arthur – I love you and I _know_ you love me. Let’s move in together. What’s stopping you?”

“My father –”

“– Your father’s _disowned_ you,” Merlin interrupted him. “I’m sorry Arthur, but he’s not in your life anymore. Perhaps one day he’ll accept that you’re gay, but until then you should actually _live_ your life. You’re young and damn attractive. Not to mention the small fact that you’ve got a man sitting beside you in this bed, who’s completely in love with you, and wants to get you out of this shithole and build a life with you. So, come on – what’s the worst that could happen?”

‘Oh, sod it,’ Arthur thought, gazing at Merlin’s hopeful face. ‘I deserve to be happy for once.’

What was it Morgana had said to him a long time ago? ‘Sometimes you’ve got to do what you think is right, and damn the consequences.’ Well, he could see no reason why it would be wrong to move in with Merlin. Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything left to lose.

“Okay then,” he said finally. “I’ll move in with you.”

“You’re _serious?”_

“Yes – I’m _deadly_ serious.” Arthur grinned.

“No backing out?”

“No backing out,” Arthur promised. “You have my word.”

Merlin laughed, taking Arthur’s face in his hands and kissing him. “We’re going to have to get these trays off this bed…”

Arthur growled impatiently, grabbing the trays and dumping them on the floor. “Now,” he smiled wryly. “Where were we?”

“I _believe,_ Mr Pendragon,” Merlin replied, pulling Arthur’s pyjama top over his head. “We were right _here.”_

“I believe you may _just_ be right, Mr Emrys.” Arthur grinned, before Merlin silenced him with another kiss, throwing Arthur’s top to the floor.

****

A couple of hours later, Merlin and Arthur were lying together in bed, in a state of total bliss. The sun was streaming in through one of Arthur’s bedsit’s only windows. Arthur could not remember a time when he had felt happier than this.

“I love you, Arthur Pendragon.” Merlin smiled.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk this time?” Arthur teased him.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Was I really _that_ bad?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, you really _were._ I seem to recall you quoting the ‘Arthur’ theme tune at me and giving me a speech on how I should believe in myself.”

“Well, you _should,”_ Merlin told him earnestly. “You’re a remarkable man, Arthur – the most remarkable I’ve ever had the honour of meeting.”

“I’m not so sure about that, but thank you anyway,” Arthur replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from Merlin’s face. “And _you,_ Merlin Emrys, are quite honestly the finest person in my life – you really are.”

“Why thank you, Mr Pendragon – how very suave of you,” Merlin grinned. Then, seemingly to himself, he murmured: “‘For thousands of seconds we kiss; your hair/like treasure on the ground; the Midas light/turning your limbs to gold.’”

Arthur frowned. “What did you just say?”

“Er…nothing!” said Merlin hastily. “I was just thinking…you look so beautiful right now – it’d be a shame not to capture this moment.”

“Well, I can’t afford a camera, but the one on my phone’s not too bad. But I have one condition.”

“And what is that?”

“You have to be in the picture with me. After all, you’re the reason I look so…what was it….?” Arthur smirked, before saying: “‘Beautiful’”?

“Hmm, you’re getting a little too big-headed for my liking,” Merlin teased him, as Arthur retrieved his phone from the floor. “I may have to do something about that later…”

Arthur gulped, unable to meet Merlin’s eye as he handed him the phone. “Come here then.” he commanded Merlin, eager to get the picture over with quickly. He leant his head on Merlin’s shoulder, a shadow of a smile creeping onto his face as Merlin put his arms around him.

Merlin held the phone up, preparing to take the picture. “Arthur,” he breathed, looking down at him. As soon as he held Arthur’s gaze, he took a few pictures.

“Let’s see the results then.” Arthur requested.

“We make for a very attractive couple,” Merlin smiled, showing Arthur the pictures. As soon as Arthur looked away, he quickly emailed them to himself, anxious that Arthur would delete them. “You know…these would make for a very good painting…”

“Y-y-you want to make a _painting_ of us?” Arthur spluttered.

“Well, if I _do,_ it will undoubtedly be the great masterpiece of my career,” Merlin noticed Arthur’s panicked expression, so assured him: “And it will be completely private – for our eyes only. Unless you _wanted_ people to see it…”

“Why would I want people to see it? This…our... _situation…_ is a completely private matter, apart from amongst our closest friends. And…your mother, if you want to tell her.”

“I _do,_ actually. I want to take you to Ealdor to meet her soon,” Merlin revealed. “If that’s not moving too fast, of course.”

“Merlin, you and I have taken moving too fast to a whole new extreme,” Arthur pointed out. “I would very much like to meet your mother.”

“Great!” Merlin beamed. “I’ll email her later. She’ll be so excited to meet my new boyfriend!”

Merlin watched Arthur closely for a reaction to him referring to him as thus, but Arthur’s phone chose that moment to ring. Seizing upon the distraction, Arthur took his phone from Merlin and looked at the caller ID. “Ah, it’s my landlady,” he said, attempting – to limited degrees of success – to look apologetic. “I’d better get this.”

Merlin picked his coat up from the floor, got a small notebook and a pencil out of a pocket and began to sketch. He soon realised that whatever Arthur’s landlady had to say did not bode well for him, since his eyes were protruding and the colour had completely drained from his face. Soon, the cause of his distress became evident: “You’re raising the rent by _how_ much?”

There was a long pause, during which Arthur grew more and more agitated. “I’m sorry, but you _know_ I can barely afford this place as it is.”

Another long pause.

“Yes, yes, I understand you have no choice, I just –”

Merlin set the notebook and pencil aside and nudged Arthur. Arthur put his hand over the phone and hissed “Not now, Merlin – this is a very important phone call.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? We’re moving in together,” Merlin reminded him. “Take this opportunity to give your landlady your notice.”

“Er…I…” Arthur hesitated.

“No backing out,” Merlin said firmly. “You gave me your word, remember?”

Arthur took Merlin’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry,” He uncovered the phone, continuing on with his conversation with his landlady. “Sorry for the delay, Mrs Liez. Actually, I was waiting for an opportunity to tell you that I’m moving out very soon. I am willing to pay my rent until the end of this month, of course – at the current rates.”

Merlin watched Arthur closely during the intermission whilst Mrs Liez spoke. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs Liez…Yes, I’m moving in with my – with somebody significant, actually – Okay…The end of the week? That’s fine, that’s great. Thank you, Mrs Liez…Yes, it’s been a – you’ve been brilliant. Thank you. Okay, goodbye now, Mrs Liez.”

When Arthur had ended the phone call, Merlin smiled coyly at him. “I’m ‘somebody significant, am I?”

“Yes, you are somebody _immensely_ significant,” Arthur noticed the cast aside sketchbook. He picked it up and gasped. In the time he had been holding his phone call, Merlin had started work on a sketch of the picture he had taken of them together. The rough outline of Arthur’s face was gazing up at the sketched version of Merlin’s. “This…this is amazing.”

“It’s okay, considering I was doing it from memory,” Merlin said modestly. “I want to make it into a painting, to hang in our bedroom.”

“That would be…great, I suppose,” Arthur said, trying his best not to let his doubts show. “Do you know what you’re going to call it?”

“Yes – I have the perfect name,” Merlin declared proudly. “‘Portrait of the Artist, With His Muse’.”

The Muse smiled broadly, pulling the Artist into an embrace.

****

“Don’t worry about being careful with those boxes, Merlin – they only contain my entire life!” Arthur exclaimed, as Merlin lifted up a cardboard box labelled ‘Kitchen shit’ a little too roughly. Noting the label, Arthur sighed. “I _knew_ I’d regret asking Gwaine to help me pack.”

“Well, your stuff _is_ pretty shitty,” Merlin taunted him. Arthur shot him a hurt look, so Merlin kissed him on the cheek. “Only joking. Besides, your whole life _isn’t_ in those boxes – _I’m_ not in one, am I?”

“That could easily be arranged,” Arthur replied, grabbing an empty box and putting it over Merlin’s head. “There – _much_ better!”

Merlin’s response was muffled by the box. “You’d better get this off if you want me to help. I don’t know whether to be sad or grateful that all your boxes fit in one taxi.”

“Go for sad – it goes to show just how very _tragic_ my life is.” Arthur told him, only half-jokingly. He liberated Merlin from the box and stole a quick kiss from him.

“That’s before _I_ came along, I hope!”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Arthur assured him, picking up a box labelled ‘Arthur’s shitty clothes’.

“Let’s get down to the taxi – this box is bloody heavy!” Merlin wheezed.

Arthur followed Merlin out to the taxi, which was waiting on the curb. They added the boxes to those which were already in the boot.

“There’s only a couple more boxes – just one more trip.” Merlin told the taxi driver.

“Alright mate,” the taxi driver replied. “I ain’t exactly complaining – this is easy money. Just take your time, yeah?”

“We won’t be long.” Arthur said firmly, going back into his bedsit.

If he was being perfectly honest with himself – which he very rarely was – Arthur would have acknowledged that he was scared. No, not just scared – petrified. He’d only decided to move in with Merlin three days previously. He’d spent the day after making his decision in a daze: questioning his own sanity, spending increasing amounts of time in bed with Merlin and listening to Gwaine’s taunts of him being _‘in luuurve’_. Yesterday, Gwaine had come round to help him pack up (Merlin had had an exhibition and Percival had been meeting with the man whom Arthur was due to fight in a couple of weeks). And now, today…he was moving out of his bedsit; his familiar dungeon, to build a new life with a man he’d only known for eight days. It was certainly a huge departure from his usual levels of extreme caution.

“What about the paintings?” he asked Merlin, pointing at the frames which were still hanging on the walls.

Merlin frowned. “What paintings?”

Arthur pointed at the walls again. _“Those_ paintings – are you _blind,_ Merlin?”

“No, I’m not. It’s just that – even at a stretch – there is no way those cheap prints can be termed as ‘paintings’.”

“Hey – they were all I could afford to make this place a bit less depressing.” Arthur defended them.

“Yes, but you’re not going to be living here anymore. You don’t _need_ them now – you’re starting a new life, away from this place. Leave them for the next poor sod that comes here,” Merlin took Arthur’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Come on – things are looking up for you. You’re _allowed_ to let go of the past. You’re _allowed_ to be excited.”

“You’re right, you’re right. Okay…I suppose it’s time to say goodbye to this place.” Arthur sighed, looking around for one last time. This bedsit – this encasement of four mildew-dabbled walls – had been one of his only sanctuaries, along with Percival’s garage and Lou’s café, for the last year. It may have been hopeless and oppressive, but it was familiar territory. Now he was plunging into the unknown, with Merlin by his side.

He gazed at Merlin, who was holding up a box labelled ‘Shite music and movies’ and watching him closely. “You ready?” Merlin asked him gently.

Lifting up a box of ‘Fecking awful books’, Arthur replied: “I’ve been ready to leave this place since the first time I walked through the front door.”

“Well, the day has finally arrived,” Merlin grinned. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Arthur followed Merlin out of the door. He didn’t look back.

****

As so often happens when a fantasy which had previously seemed impossible _does_ actually turn into a reality, Arthur was experiencing adjusting to life with Merlin with some difficulty. He was not accustomed to waking up without the stench of damp and the sight of the peeling ceiling of his bedsit. Now when he awoke, he found himself in Merlin’s bedroom – no, _his_ and Merlin’s bedroom – a light and airy room in a flat above Emrys Studios. Instead of laying in his cramped little sofa-bed, Arthur now slept in a double bed, clutching Merlin as though he expected him to be torn away at any moment.

 If he ever woke up before Merlin he’d watch him closely, to check that he was still breathing. That was until the morning when Merlin had woken up and snapped: “If I stop breathing you’ll be the first person I tell!” When Arthur had responded that he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone anything, Merlin had kissed him to shut him up.

There had been a _lot_ of kissing. And… _well…_ other things…Living with Merlin was certainly proving to be an… _awakening_ experience, to say the least.

They didn’t _quite_ spend all their time holed up in their bedroom though. Merlin was still Arthur’s employer; Arthur went to work at the usual time. His commute was so much shorter that it was practically non-existent, but Merlin still sketched him…although he _had_ taken to sketching Arthur in the nude of a number of occasions. He had also taken to sneaking off to his studio for a couple of hours every evening, and – during this time – he would not allow Arthur to enter. Whatever he was working on was kept locked in a storeroom – the key to which Merlin alone held.

Arthur still went to Percival’s garage every evening. His fight was fast approaching. If Merlin came with him, Arthur made sure that Percival kept the beer out of his and Gwaine’s reach. He was glad that Merlin was making friends with his friends, but he’d rather not have to drag a drunken Merlin back home again – especially as Merlin’s flat (no – _his_ and Merlin’s flat) was further away from the garage than his bedsit had been.

He may have only been living with Merlin for a week now (could it _really_ have only been that short span of time? Time seemed to stretch when Merlin was around), but they had already fallen into a cosy domestic routine.

After Arthur had dumped a pile of washing up liquid bubbles on Merlin’s head, which had turned out to be the first move in a lengthy bubble fight, it had been decided that Merlin would wash up and Arthur would only be entrusted with the drying. And, following a particularly traumatic incident when a stray blue sock had turned a whole load of their washing bright blue, the laundry became Merlin’s chore. Arthur was saddled with cleaning the kitchen and bathroom, and duelling with the hoover.

They took it in turns to sort out dinner, either trying to impress with over-ambitious recipes courtesy of celebrity chefs, or ordering takeaways to eat snuffled upon the sofa in front of a soppy romantic film.

Life with Merlin was domestic bliss and Arthur had never been this happy – in fact, he’d had never really _been_ happy before.

The only time he had been dragged down from the sky had been one afternoon in Percival’s garage. He’d just finished training with Percival in the ring (he had a few less bruises forming than usual, so he _must_ have been doing _something_ right) and was slouched on the sofa, with his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. Gwaine and Percival were sitting together on his other side.

Percival cleared his throat awkwardly. “Erm…Arthur?”

“Yes?” Arthur replied.

“Gwaine and I were just saying, before you came–”

“–Don’t trouble him with _that,_ Perce. He doesn’t need to know.” Gwaine warned him.

“No, no – he should know,” Percival insisted firmly. “Arthur, we haven’t seen your father at work for quite some time. And…the last time we saw him, he didn’t look at all well.”

Arthur sat upright and looked Percival dead in the eye. “No disrespect to you and Gwaine, but do you really think I give a flying fuck about my father? After all he’s done to me, I wouldn’t care a less if he dropped dead this very second. He’s made it perfectly clear how he feels about me, so I have no duty to feign any love or compassion for him.”

“That’s not true,” Merlin said quietly. “You _do_ still care about him – I can tell.”

Arthur’s eyes blazed with such fury that Merlin slid away from him on the sofa. “No, you _can’t_ tell– you are mistaken, Merlin. Do you really think my father would be offering us his congratulations if he knew about…about this? No – he’d be disgusted. He’s completely resolute in his standing on…the issue, and he’d do anything in his power to keep us apart. He has essentially forced me to choose between himself and you – and I choose you. I’d choose you over him any day, Merlin. So don’t assume that I miss him. I can’t afford to.”

“Have you really chosen me over your own father?” Merlin gasped.

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?” Arthur answered tersely. Merlin knew that his impatient tone was his way of masking his emotions; that he was embarrassed to have opened up so much. Realising that making a big deal out of it all would probably cause Arthur to retreat and hide his emotions even more than he already did, Merlin settled for kissing him. The kiss lasted so long that his lips began to ache. When they eventually resurfaced, they saw that Percival and Gwaine had tactfully gone to stand at the other end of the garage.

Merlin grinned at them. “Sorry! Got a bit carried away!”

“Don’t apologise, mate,” Gwaine replied. “As much as the sight of Arthur playing tonsil tennis to Wimbledon finals standards makes me feel about as comfortable as the thought of Leinster losing every game of the season, I’m glad to finally see him happy. He’s been downright miserable for far too long now.”

Arthur smiled. “Well, as long as I have Merlin, I don’t think I’ll ever be miserable again.”

****

Arthur was pacing. He’d been doing a constant circuit of his and Merlin’s bedroom for the past hour now. A suitcase waited ominously on their bed. His palms were sweaty. His heart was hammering.

The bedroom door opened, dragging Arthur out of his reverie. “Quit pacing – you’ll wear the floorboards out!” Merlin teased him, giving him a reassuring kiss.

“Sorry, sorry!” I’m just –” Arthur gulped, ashamed to finish the sentence.

“Nervous?” Merlin finished for him. Arthur nodded. Merlin put his arms around Arthur’s waist and held him gently. “Don’t be – she’ll love you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because she loves me, and you’re making me happier than I’ve ever been,” Merlin smiled. “She’ll _adore_ you.”

“Okay. Okay. Right. Er, thanks…my love.” Arthur mumbled.

“Your ‘love’?” Merlin grinned.

“My love; my better half; my light at the end of the tunnel!” Arthur proclaimed grandly, pulling Merlin closer to him and kissing him enthusiastically.

“Well, _that_ was unexpected – and very much appreciated!” Merlin said, a few minutes later. “Still nervous?”

“Absolutely terrified – and dying for a smoke.”

“Maybe this will help,” Merlin took a packet of nicotine patches from his pocket. He rolled Arthur’s sleeve up, stroking his arm, then slowly pulled a used nicotine patch from his skin, before tenderly placing a new one on. “A treat for my darling nicotine addict.”

“Thank you – it needed changing.”

“I know – I keep a close eye on the timings to make sure you’re still using them, instead of sneaking off for a crafty cigarette.” Merlin confessed.

“Merlin Emrys, I didn’t know you had it in you…whatever ‘it’ is.”

“Don’t underestimate me, my darling,” Merlin smirked. “Now let’s get out of here. I don’t want to keep my mother waiting.”

“Okay, _okay.”_ Arthur sighed, pulling their suitcase from the bed.

“She'll love you, she really will,” Merlin reassured him, leading the way out of Emrys Studios.

“I hope so,” Arthur replied, then added – so quietly he barely made a sound – “Because I’m very much in love with her son.”

****

Arthur loathed public transport. Trains were more often than not delayed, meaning connections were missed. With busses, it was always pot luck if he managed to press the ‘stop’ button in time to get off at the right stop. Taxis in the city were extortionate. He detested every single thing about public transport, from the mingled smell of stale takeaways and bodily fluids on the tube, to the delays caused by rush hour traffic on the bus.

So, with much trepidation, he had offered to get a hire car for his and Merlin’s trip to Ealdor. Arthur hadn’t driven in over a year, having been unable to afford a car since his father had disowned him. He’d never been the best driver anyway: too arrogant; too impatient; too eager to impress his passengers by violating the speed limit. But now he was driving a very precious passenger, and he was determined not to let lack of practice or his old attitude endanger him. Merlin was to be protected at all costs – even if that meant doing something as dull as actually following the Highway Code.

Merlin, of course, couldn’t drive. He declared driving to be ‘a mainstream practise with the purpose of forcing people to commit to even more responsibilities than society already forces upon them’. Arthur had just sighed and branded him a ‘revolutionary hippy’. In Merlin’s defence, though, he _had_ paid half the hire charge – which was a relief, since there was no way Arthur would have been able to afford it otherwise.

Merlin, it transpired, did not exactly appreciate Arthur’s efforts to keep him safe. He likened their journey to ‘Driving Miss Daisy’, telling Arthur: “You _do_ realise you can be pulled over for driving too slow, don’t you?”

“Well I’m _sorry_ for not driving like a lunatic!” Arthur snapped. “Why don’t _you_ drive if you don’t like it? Oh, _wait,_ that’s right – you _can’t!”_

“If I’d known you were going to be this arsey I would have insisted on getting those two trains and three busses.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, my…Merlin. I just haven’t driven a car for so long. I’m out of practise and, frankly, I’m fucking terrified.” Arthur apologised.

Merlin placed a soothing hand on Arthur’s knee. “Don’t be. You have nothing to worry about. Just get up to the speed limit and remember to breathe, and we’ll be dandy. You can do this.”

“Thanks.” Arthur smiled, then gradually sped the car up, until he finally reached the speed limit.

Within two hours, they had finally reached Ealdor. Arthur’s hands were trembling on the steering wheel; his jaw was clenched and he had fallen into a deathly silence.

“It’s, er, it’s the next left.” Merlin told him quietly.

Arthur clamoured with the indicator, then slowly turned down the road.

“This is the house.” Merlin added, when they had driven a little way down the road.

Arthur pulled over and stopped the car. He stared at the steering wheel as though it contained the answers to the mysteries of the Universe.  Then, suddenly, slowly and carefully pronouncing his words as he clearly struggled to control his voice, he said: “Shall we go in then?”

Merlin nodded. “Let’s.”

Arthur silently got out of the car, then opened the boot and retrieved their suitcase. Merlin came to his side; Arthur held his hand out to him. “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” Merlin promised. “Well…not until she hugs us, anyway.”

 _“‘Us’?”_ Arthur echoed, panic rising. “Surely you mean just you?”

“No, she’ll want to hug you as well,” Merlin laughed, walking towards his mother’s house and pulling Arthur behind him. “Come along, Mr Pendragon!”

Merlin ran up the front garden path and knocked eagerly on the front door. Within seconds, Merlin’s mother – who had clearly been waiting by the door – pulled it open, smiling broadly.

“Hello mother,” Merlin grinned. “This is Arthur Pendragon – my boyfriend.”

****

“Hello my darling!” Merlin’s mother exclaimed. Merlin let go of Arthur’s hand as he was pulled into a hug by his mother. The air was knocked out of his lungs. “It’s so lovely to see you again!”

Arthur was her next target. Without any prior warning, he found himself being pulled into a bone-crushing embrace. “And it’s absolutely fantastic to finally meet you, Arthur! I’m Hunith. Merlin’s told me so much about you!”

Arthur frowned as Hunith released him. “Really?”

Merlin smiled coyly. “That’s the beauty of emails, Arthur – you can’t hear what I’m saying.”

“I do wish you would stop being so ridiculous and just get yourself a phone. Honestly, I do. Imagine all the work you could be missing out on!” Hunith sighed. “Oh well, I’ll never change your mind. You’ve got the courage of your convictions, _that’s_ for sure.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Are you going to let us in then mother? I’m gasping for a cup of tea.”

Hunith looked surprised, then realised that Merlin and Arthur were still standing on the doorstep. “Oh, of course, of course! Sorry, do come in.”

Arthur followed Merlin and Hunith down a dark, low ceilinged corridor in her tiny cottage. It only took them a matter of seconds to enter the snug living room, with its sagging sofa covered by a patchwork throw; a dinky portable television; a bookcase full and overflowing with various volumes and a coffee table laden with assorted biscuits.

“Oh mother, you shouldn’t have!” Merlin grinned, diving in for a biscuit.

“Of _course_ I should have – my son’s brought round his first boyfriend since –” Hunith abruptly fell silent, before quickly asking: “So, tea for you Merlin. And you, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, tea thanks.” Hunith left the room; Arthur watched Merlin closely. His posture had stiffened fractionally and his face had set to a blank mask when Hunith had cut off her sentence. He still had not relaxed.

Arthur went to stroke Merlin’s face, but, to his surprise, Merlin flinched. Then he jolted, as though he had been prodded with an electric rod. “Sorry, sorry. I just phased out a bit.”

Arthur tenderly took Merlin in his arms and whispered in his ear: “You don’t have to worry about your past anymore, my…my _love,”_ – the word was strained – “I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll protect you, no matter what. You have my word.”

“That’s good,” Merlin replied gravely. “Because Will still lives in Ealdor. In fact, he lives at the end of this street.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part of the fic has been purposely organised into a separate chapter for those who don't wish to read scenes involving Will, who previously subjected Merlin to domestic abuse.

Merlin had been right: Hunith loved Arthur. She plied him with tea and biscuits all day, telling him embarrassing stories from Merlin’s childhood – complete with obligatory photographic evidence. She also asked him about himself (he had glossed over his family history) and just generally had a laugh with him. She had promised him and Merlin a cooked breakfast the following morning, which Merlin had informed Arthur meant that she adored him.

That evening, Merlin showed Arthur around some of his old haunts. Arthur, for once, was not scared of anyone seeing them together. After all, nobody knew him here, and everyone who knew Merlin seemed to be his friend. Nobody cared when he and Merlin held hands; rested their hands on the other’s knees when they sat down, or even when they kissed each other. Nobody except one man who sat obscured under a hoodie, at the back of the pub they visited towards the end of the evening.

Unbeknown to Merlin and Arthur, this man has been observing them since they had entered the pub an hour earlier. But, when Merlin fed Arthur one of his chips, the man smashed his glass on the floor and practically ran over to them. He grabbed Merlin’s wrist, forcibly lowering his fork. Merlin gasped. Arthur could see the blood draining from his hand – and from his face. Merlin uttered a single, terrible name: “Will.”

The pub fell into a deathly silence.

“Hello, _darling,”_ Will sneered. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

“What the fuck do you think _you’re_ doing?” Arthur demanded, getting up to face Will. “Get your filthy hands off my…” – This was not the time to be vague about his relationship with Merlin. Arthur had to be brave and support the man he loved. He took a deep breath, then continued – “…my boyfriend.”

“Oh, _your_ boyfriend, is he?” Will let go of Merlin’s wrist suddenly, so that it fell onto the wooden table with a bang. Merlin gasped in pain. Arthur’s heart hammered. “You see, I was under the impression that he would always answer to  _me_ _._ I’ve known him for a very long time, see. Long enough to have gained a _significant influence_ over him.”

Arthur swallowed bile. “It’s sad, Will, it really is,” he managed to say calmly. “It doesn’t have to be like this you know. I know it’s hard to accept that you’re gay – _believe_ me, I really _do –_ but there’s no excuse at all for taking it out on others like you have.”

“Well isn’t this _sweet?”_ Will hissed. “I see it’s all sunshine and flowers in Rainbow Land, _Merlin.”_

The way Will said Merlin’s name – like it was a demand; an order; an insult – chilled Arthur to the bone. “You touch another hair on his head and I swear to God, I will take you down Will. I will take you down so far that you’ll never get back up again.” Arthur murmured dangerously.

Will grabbed a fistful of Merlin’s hair and yanked it hard. Merlin cried out in pain again.

The edges of Arthur’s vision were tinged with red as a white hot rage washed over him. He tore each of Will’s fingers from Merlin’s hair. The he pulled Merlin out of his seat, into a kiss. As soon as he pulled away from it, Will’s fist came flying into Arthur’s face.

“Right,” Arthur said quietly; menacingly. He took his phone out of his pocket and dialled, then held it to his ear. “Yes, police please. I’d like to report an assault.”

****

Arthur was sure Hunith’s cooked breakfast was as delicious as it was reputed to be. It certainly looked and smelled appetising. The problem was not in the food itself – it was in Arthur’s mouth. It was as dry as the Sahara, no matter how much tea Hunith brought him. He would have preferred something much stronger to drink – ideally something strong enough to knock him out for the whole day – but Merlin was keeping a close eye on him. That was how Arthur knew that Merlin loved him – _really_ loved him. He was much closer to emotional collapse than Arthur, yet still he kept him strong.

Merlin, Arthur and Hunith sat in the living room pretending to watch television for a couple of hours after breakfast, Arthur kept reaching out for Merlin, stroking his hand; kissing his shoulder; putting his arm around him – anything to make sure he was still safe.

Finally, at eleven o’ clock, Hunith’s phone rang. She answered it, then proceeded to say ‘Yes’ and ‘I understand’ multiple times, before hanging up. “Will’s been released on bail,” she told Arthur gravely. “Are you _sure_ about this?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Sure about _what,_ Arthur?”

“Nothing!” Arthur exclaimed, far too quickly. “I’m just going out to get some fresh air.”

Arthur got up to leave, and Merlin followed him. “What are you doing, Merlin?” he demanded.

“Coming with you.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, you’re not. Stay here with your mother.”

“Don’t you _dare_ patronise me Arthur Pendragon! _I am coming with you, and that’s final.”_ Merlin insisted, through gritted teeth.

“No, you’re not. You’re really _not,”_ Arthur appealed to Merlin’s mother: _“_ Tell him, Hunith – please.”

Hunith placed her hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “I think you’d better stay behind darling. Arthur will be back before you know it.”

“Arthur –”

“–Merlin,” Arthur interrupted him, putting his index finger of Merlin’s lips. “You are staying here, and that’s final.”

“Who do you think I am – your _servant?”_

“No, you are my boyfriend,” Arthur replied, rushing through the word ‘boyfriend’, “and I am _not_ putting you through this.”

Merlin gasped. This was only the second time Arthur had referred to him as his boyfriend. Before the events of the previous night, he’d never been willing to label their relationship. It had done the trick. With a parting kiss, Arthur left – without Merlin.

Arthur didn’t have much time left to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do; his destination was just down the end of Hunith’s road. As he walked up to the front door of the cottage, he tensed his shoulders and squared his jaw. Then he rang the doorbell.

****

The door was pulled open slowly – just a crack – so that all Arthur could see of the cottage’s occupant was a bloodshot eye.

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” Will snarled.

“I’m here to offer you an ultimatum,” Arthur revealed. “I think you’d better let me in.”

“No, I’m not thick,” – Will glowered when Arthur smirked at that – “I’d get into even _more_ shit if the cops found out I’d been around my ‘victim’.”

“Let me in, Will, and you’ll have nothing more to do with me. We can cancel our date in court before it’s even arranged.”

Will flung the door open and stalked down the corridor of his cottage, turning into a room on his left. Arthur followed him, closing the door behind him.

Will’s living room was considerably less homely than Hunith’s. It contained a sagging armchair, a tiny television and an overflowing ashtray on the floor. There was also a disused fireplace, above which Arthur noticed was stuck a crumpled picture of Will and Merlin.  Will pointed at the chair, but Arthur refused to sit down. He didn’t want to give Will the upper hand.

Knowing how much pain Will had caused Merlin – both physical and emotional – made Arthur feel nauseous in his presence. He cut to the chase so that he could leave as soon as possible. “I’m willing not to press charges for the assault.”

Will frowned. “And why the _hell_ would you do that?”

“Because, Will, I have a condition. Just one. And it’s this: you have to confess to what you did to Merlin.”

Will snorted. “Fuck off! Why would I want to be charged for domestic abuse instead of assault?”

“Because otherwise I will tell the police what you’ve done, and then you’ll be facing _two_ charges.”

“Do you _really think_ Merlin will want to relive all the shit I did to him? Don’t you think it’ll stir up bad memories? Every time I hit him; every time I fucked with his head – he’ll relive it all, and it’ll be all your fault.”

“Merlin will come round, once he realises that he’ll be helping others like him.”

“Oh yeah, and what evidence do you have to go on?” Will demanded triumphantly.

“Well, for one, the recording I’ve just made of this conversation,” Arthur took his phone out of his pocket, holding it aloft to show Will that it was recording every word they said.

As Will turned deathly white, Arthur walked out of the cottage, calling: “Your choice!” over his shoulder as he went.

****

Arthur was acutely aware that everyone was staring at him and Merlin as they walked into Ealdor’s local pub that night. The reason for this was soon revealed, as the barman said to Merlin, when he gave them their drinks, “I’m so sorry about what Will did to you. If I’d’ve known, I’d never have let him in my pub.”

Merlin frowned. “What do you mean?”

The barman leaned in, lowering his voice. “He’s given himself up to the police for abusing you. He’ll go to jail if he’s found guilty.”

“Good.” Arthur said firmly.

“Wait… _you_ did this!” Merlin hissed. “You went to see him this morning, didn’t you? And now you’ve made him confess to something I wanted to put behind me. But I can’t now, can I, because _everybody knows!”_

Arthur put his hand on Merlin’s forearm, but Merlin shook him off. “I think we should take this outside, Merlin.” Arthur told him gently.

“Fine! Fine! I can’t _wait_ to hear you explain yourself!” Merlin stalked out of the back door of the pub, into the beer garden. Arthur followed him out.

Arthur hadn’t realised that it had started to rain whilst they’d been in the pub, but Merlin didn’t seem to care. He took Arthur by the hand, leading him over to a bench, which he roughly pushed him down onto. Arthur could feel the rain soaking through his jeans as he looked up at Merlin’s furious face. “Well, Arthur?” he asked expectantly.

“He had to be brought to justice.”

“Damn it, Arthur, I had moved on! I had moved on with you! I do _not_ need to be reminded of all this shit now!” Merlin exclaimed. “How _could_ you do this to me?”

“He can’t accept his sexuality, so he’s denying himself. But every so often, he’ll cave in – just like he did with you. But that _still_ doesn’t mean he’ll accept his feelings for another man. So he’ll carry on taking his frustrations out on some other poor guy, again just like he did with you,” Arthur explained calmly. “I know how he feels. I understand him.”

Merlin looked horrified. “What do you mean?”

“He takes his sexuality out on others; I take it out on myself. So I know, Merlin – I know he won’t stop unless something drastic happens. For me, it was you. For him…well, I suppose it’s going to be prison.”

“Oh God,” Merlin gasped, getting up and pacing, his hands pushing his hair back. “Oh God, Arthur – what have you _done?”_

Arthur got up and put his arms around Merlin’s waist, pulling him close. Merlin didn’t resist anymore; he slumped against Arthur. “I’ve done the best I can to get you justice, and to stop anyone else suffering at his hands. I can’t let him walk around freely after what he’s done to you.” Arthur murmured.

“That’s very selfish of you,” Merlin retorted. “You’re playing the hero.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just trying to do the right thing by as many people as I can,” Arthur replied. “I understand that you want to put all of this behind you, and you’re scared, and you’re upset, and you don’t know if you can make it through a court case. But you’re not going to be alone, Merlin – you have my word. Everyone in this town seems to like you – God knows why; you’re a complete idiot – but they do. And you’ve got your mother. And – and me. I will always be here for you, because I – I – I belong at your side.”

“Oh Arthur,” Merlin sighed. “You’re a complete and utter clotpole, but I understand why you did this. I want to say thank you. And I love you, of course.”

“Of course.” Arthur smiled, kissing the top of Merlin’s head.


	5. Chapter 5

A couple of days later, Merlin and Arthur were passing yet another evening in Percival’s garden. There were only four days to go until Arthur’s fight; Percival had been expecting him back at training sooner. He’d obviously been about to lecture Arthur for being so negligent, but Gwaine took one look at Merlin’s face and shook his head. “Leave it, Perce. I’m sure Arthur has his reasons.”

Arthur nodded. “Thanks Gwaine. Right, I’ll get changed and then I guess we’ll get in the ring?”

“Where else would we go?” Percival retorted.

Arthur went to get changed; Percival waited for him in the ring and Gwaine and Merlin sat together on the sofa. “Are you alright mate?” Gwaine asked, looking concerned.

“I will be, yeah.”

“Well, whatever happens, you know me and Perce are always here for ya. And Arthur is, of course,” Gwaine said, patting Merlin’s knee. “He loves you, y’know.”

Arthur looked over at them as he got into the ring. “Hey, unhand my boyfriend!” he joked.

Gwaine raised his eyebrows as he held his hands up in surrender. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of messing around with your man.”

Arthur grinned. “I know you wouldn’t – you wouldn’t want to be humiliated in the ring by me.”

Gwaine laughed. “You’d be lucky!”

Percival and Gwaine began training, and Merlin smiled. “Yeah, I know he loves me.”

****

Before Merlin and Arthur knew it, the eve of Arthur’s fight had arrived.

That night, Merlin made dinner. He lit some candles and they ate their meal on trays in front of his VHS of ‘Titanic’ (which Arthur insisted he was watching ‘ironically’, of course).

Once they had eaten, Arthur lay in Merlin’s arms of the sofa, his eyelids shutters against the onscreen drama as he dozed off. Merlin smiled, playing with Arthur’s hair.

He woke Arthur up as the credits rolled, and they made their way up to their bedroom. There they made love – slowly; tenderly – until they fell asleep, Arthur’s body wrapped around Merlin’s.

They jolted awake to the sound of their alarm clock seemingly minutes later.

****

Percival’s garage appeared as it did every fight day. A small crowd flanked the boxing ring. They had all scrutinised the odds and laid their bets as soon as Arthur and his opponent had arrived.

The man Arthur was to fight was tall and fairly broad, with long dark brown hair scraped into a ponytail. The mean look in his eyes left Arthur with no doubt that this was not a man who would be taunted about this. The way he scanned Arthur with those eyes left him feeling as though the contents of his mind had been pillaged.

When Arthur held his hand out to the man, it was engulfed in an iron grip. The man gruffly introduced himself as Cenred. Arthur could already tell that this was going to be a dirty fight.

Arthur took Merlin aside and talked to him before the fight began. Merlin had been concerned after just one look at Cenred; he told Arthur: “I don’t think you should fight him.”

“If I don’t, I’ll most likely have to fight everyone who’s placed bets on the fight,” Arthur grimaced. “I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“But what if you get hurt?”

Arthur shrugged. “Then I get hurt. Look, try not to worry. I’ll be fine. I’ve fought many times before – I know what I’m doing.”

“But I _am_ worried about you,” Merlin replied, looking hurt when Arthur backed away from the hand he extended towards his cheek.

“Stick with Gwaine – he’ll look after you.”

“Fine. Fine. Okay,” Merlin sighed. “Um, break a leg then – but not literally!”

He leaned in to kiss Arthur, but was rejected again. “Better not – not in front of these guys, and _especially_ not in front of Cenred.” Arthur explained.

“Arthur, there is a gay rights flag hanging up on the wall.” Merlin pointed out impatiently.

“Doesn’t mean _I’m_ gay,” Arthur retorted. “And for the duration of the match, I’m as straight as an arrow.”

“I don’t like this.” Merlin muttered.

“I have to go,” Arthur told him, with an air of finality. He held his hand out and shook Merlin’s, squeezing it slightly to reassure him. Then he turned to get into the boxing ring with Cenred.

****

Arthur realised that this was going to be a difficult fight right from the start, when he saw that Cenred was a southpaw. He had never fought one before. Everything was in reverse. Cenred had the advantage right from the start.

No matter how much countering, blocking and parrying Arthur did (and there was very little else he _could_ do, bar a few unsuccessful jabs and uppercuts), Cenred’s attack was relentless. He won every round, showering Arthur with jabs and uppercuts; throwing in right hooks.

Arthur was relieved when the final round arrived. Finally, he could see an end to his torment. He smiled reassuringly at Merlin.

When Cenred saw this exchange, his reaction was immediate. His face contorted with rage and he rushed at Arthur, throwing a kidney punch at him with all of his force. Arthur collapsed instantly.

****

 _“ARTHUR!”_ Merlin screamed, sprinting over to the boxing ring to be by Arthur’s side. Arthur did not answer. He was out cold.

Cenred fled the scene, with Gwaine in hot pursuit. Percival stayed behind and rang for an ambulance. The small crowd that had been watching the fight quickly dispersed.

Arthur lay in a heap on the floor of the boxing ring. Merlin was cradling him in his arms and caressing his face. The only sound he was aware of was the low hiss of air rattling between Arthur’s teeth.

Percival got off the phone and entered the ring. He gently pushed Merlin aside and put Arthur into the recovery position. As soon as he had done so, Merlin returned to Arthur’s side, his vigil continuing.  “Please, Arthur, get through this. I know you can. _Please.”_ he was whispering, over and over again.

Percival laid his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “The paramedics should be here soon. There’s an ambulance station not far from here.”

Merlin tore his eyes away from Arthur to give Percival a stricken look. “Why did Cenred do this to Arthur?”

“I suspect for the same reason Valiant turned his match with Gwaine into an attack,” Percival replied gravely. “He must have worked out that you and Arthur are together.”

“So…so this was a homophobic attack?”

“It would seem so, yes,” Percival confirmed, squeezing Merlin’s shoulder. “I am so sorry, Merlin. This is all my fault.”

“But how could he have known?” Merlin demanded. “Arthur would barely let me touch him before the fight.”

“I saw Arthur looking at you before Cenred attacked him,” Percival revealed. “There could be no denying the love exchanged in that look.”

“So this is _my_ fault!” Merlin exclaimed, looking horrified.

“No, _no!”_ Percival reassured him hastily. “The blame is on me. I’m the one who arranged the fight.”

“I can’t blame you, Percival,” Merlin said resolutely. “You and Gwaine are the only friends Arthur has left, and you’ve been so good to us. This is not your fault.”

Both men were blinking away tears by the time they heard ambulance sirens nearby. As paramedics rushed over to Arthur, Percival gently tugged Merlin away, saying: “Let them do their job, Merlin. Arthur is in safe hands.”

Merlin clung to Percival as the paramedics tended to Arthur. It was only when he realised that Percival looked just as worried as he did that Merlin asked: “Where’s Gwaine?”

“He’s, er, he’s gone after Cenred.” Percival said quietly.

Merlin’s eyes widened. “No! What if he gets hurt as well? I could never handle the guilt.”

“You don’t have to,” came a voice from behind them. “I’m a big boy.”

It was Gwaine. His lip was bleeding; his face was a mess and his breathing was laboured. He staggered towards them. “I got the bugger. The police have him now.”

“Good.” Merlin said firmly.

At that moment, the paramedics carried Arthur into the ambulance on a stretcher. He looked so vulnerable and so, so small. Merlin followed in a daze. None of this seemed real.

“Does one of you want to come in the ambulance with your mate?” one of the paramedics asked.

Merlin nodded. “Yes, I want to be with him.”

“We’ll follow in our car,” Percival assured him. “We’ll be ten minutes tops. I want to get Gwaine looked at anyway.”

“Quit fussing – Arthur’s the main priority.” Gwaine rebuked him.

“No, Percival’s right,” said Merlin, getting into the ambulance. “No offense, Gwaine, but you’re a mess.”

‘Just like everything else right now.’ he thought gloomily.

****

Arthur was rushed straight into theatre for internal bleeding when the ambulance arrived at the hospital. Merlin sat helplessly in a corridor, staring at the floor. Fifteen long minutes later, he felt a hand squeezing his shoulder.

“Sorry I’m later expected – I’ve left Gwaine in A and E.” Percival explained, sitting beside Merlin.

“Go and be with him if you want,” Merlin said hoarsely. “You don’t have to leave him for my sake.”

“Oh, Gwaine will be fine,” Percival replied. “Like he said, he’s a big boy.”

“I’m not sure if it was brave or stupid of him to go after Cenred,” Merlin admitted. “I’m very grateful to him, either way.”

Percival smiled fondly. “I never know if anything he does is brave or stupid. Usually it’s a mixture of both.”

Merlin let out a small laugh. “Same with Arthur.” His face crumpled as he broke down into tears.

Percival put his arm around Merlin. “Hey, hey, don’t worry. Arthur will be fine. He’s strong and he’s determined. He’ll come out the other side fighting – you’ll see.”

Merlin gave him a grateful smile, nodding bravely. “Yeah, I’m sure he will. Thanks.”

They sat waiting in the corridor for the longest hour of Merlin’s life. Gwaine joined them halfway through. He and Percival sat on either side of Merlin, pillars of support.

Finally, Arthur was pushed past them on a bed. Percival asked a nurse where he was being taken and they were led to the room he had been placed in.

“Why is he on his own?” Merlin asked the nurse anxiously.

“We just want to make sure he has the best chance of recovery,” the nurse reassured him. “He’s had a serious operation but it went well. He’s under sedation at moment, but he’ll be able to hear you if you want to talk to him.” He made a few checks on the wires and tubes attached to Arthur, then left them alone in the room with him.

“If you want us to make ourselves scarce we can wait outside.” said Gwaine.

Merlin didn’t want to seem rude or possessive, but he wanted nothing more than to be alone with Arthur. This must have been obvious, because Percival squeezed his shoulder and left the room with Gwaine.

Cautiously, Merlin approached Arthur, sitting down on a chair beside the bed and taking his hand. He gasped when he saw the tube sticking into it. Arthur’s hand was heavy and limp; his face was ashen; his skin was broken and mottled with bruises. Merlin wished he could gaze into Arthur’s eyes and be reassured that everything would be okay; that he was being a complete idiot and didn’t need to make a fuss. But, of course, Arthur was unconscious. He lay still in the bed, a noble wounded warrior.

“This is milking it a bit, even by your standards,” Merlin joked feebly. “If you could stop being such a drama queen any time soon, that would be great.”

For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Merlin felt tears running down his face. “You are never fighting again. Do you hear me, Arthur Pendragon? Never again,” he sobbed. “I’ll double your wages; I’ll give you a promotion; I’ll give you a share of the studio. I’ll do _anything,_ just as long as you’re safe. I can’t ever see you like this again. I can’t bear it, Arthur, knowing there’s nothing I can do to make this all better.”

Merlin took a deep breath, running his free hand over his face.

“I was so alone before I met you. I was still terrified after…after Will. I didn’t think I would ever be able to trust anyone again. And then…then you came along. Christ, it’s only been a month, but you’ve changed my life completely.”

He kissed Arthur’s hand. “I love you, Arthur Pendragon, and I know you love me. I want to wake up every day and see your stupid face next to mine; to hear you taunting me relentlessly; to kiss you when you’re standing bleary-eyed over the kettle in the morning; to cuddle up in front of all those crappy chick-flicks you pretend to hate but ‘secretly’ cry at. More than anything, I don’t want you to ever get hurt again, so I’m going to look after you. So just – just get better, Arthur. I need you.”

****

There was a knock at the door, and the nurse came in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. It’s getting late. Visiting hours start a ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Merlin nodded. “Yeah, of course,” He heaved himself up, leaning over to kiss Arthur’s forehead, whispering one final “I love you.”

The nurse gave him a smile oozing with professional pity; then Merlin went to join Gwaine and Percival in the corridor. They offered to let him sleep on their sofa for the night, but Merlin wanted to try to get some comfort from being in his and Arthur’s home, so they dropped him off at Emrys Studios.

The leftover lasagne Merlin attempted to eat tasted of bile. He retched over the kitchen sink, emptying his stomach of its contents. Merlin sighed, clearing the vomit up and giving up on trying to eat.

He got into the shower, but he barely had the energy to stand under the water. He just let it wash over him.

Finally, Merlin climbed into his and Arthur’s bed. It felt unbearably empty. Images of the fight haunted him all night, replaying over and over in his mind, always slowing down to focus on the moment Arthur collapsed.

At 6am, Merlin accepted defeat and got out of bed. He pulled on the same clothes he’d been wearing the previous day. He managed to eat a slice of toast, but it took him half an hour. He chugged black coffee and kept dashing to the toilet. His bowel was his enemy; it was as though his whole body was in despair along with his mind and his heart.

Merlin sat listlessly on the sofa at 8am, staring at the television. The screen was blank. He didn’t have the energy or the inclination to turn it on.

At 9am, there was a knock at the door. He tried to ignore it, but whoever was on the other side of the door began hammering on it.

Slowly, Merlin dragged himself to the door, putting it on the chain before he opened it. Through the gap he could see Percival and Gwaine. “Hi mate. We wanted to check how you’re doing, and to offer you a lift to the hospital.” Percival told him.

“Hang on,” Merlin said, closing the door to take it off the chain and let them in. “Hi. And, er, thanks.”

Gwaine grimaced as he came in. “You look awful mate.”

“Cheers! You don’t look so great yourself.” Merlin retorted, indicating Gwaine’s cut and bruised face.

“Because of a noble cause,” Gwaine protested. “You, my friend, have no excuse. _You’re_ just moping – and Arthur’s not too fond of folks who sit around feeling sorry for themselves.”

“Arthur is unconscious in a hospital bed.” Merlin pointed out.

“Yeah, and he might be waking up today,” Percival said, trying his best to sound positive at all costs. “You want to look your best for him, don’t you?”

Merlin nodded. “Yeah, of course I do.”

“So get in the shower; change your clothes; have a shave and let’s go and see him.” Percival ordered him. Merlin obeyed.

Within half an hour, Merlin was feeling vaguely human. He got in the car with Gwaine and Percival, silently cursing every traffic light which kept him from Arthur.

Arthur was conscious when they finally reached the hospital. However, he wasn’t alone. There was an older man in the room with him. Gwaine’s eyes widened in horror as he recognised him. “Uther.”

****

“What is _he_ doing here?” Merlin demanded. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Arthur replied awkwardly. “Everything’s fine.”

“So what is your father doing here?” asked Merlin.

“I’m Arthur’s next of kin,” Uther told him, somewhat triumphantly. “The hospital called me about Arthur’s little _‘accident’_.”

“But I was here. They could have talked to me. After all, I know a lot more about Arthur’s life than _you_ do.”

Uther’s lip curled. “I don’t doubt that for one moment,” He turned to Arthur. “I’ll leave you to explain the situation to _Merlin_ here, shall I?”

“Yes, thank you father.” Arthur said, his voice too hollow for Merlin’s liking.

“Come,” Uther commanded Percival and Gwaine. “Let us leave the _‘lovebirds’_ to discuss matters.”

When they were alone in the room, Merlin asked: _“Well?”_ He crossed the room and took Arthur’s hand. Arthur was as unresponsive to this as he had been when he was unconscious.

“I’ve been talking to my father.” Arthur began redundantly, unable to look Merlin in the eye.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I would _never_ have guessed! What does he want?”

“He wants me to work in my old position at Pendragon Haulage,” Arthur revealed. “He wants me back in his life.”

Merlin was taken aback. “Well…that’s a _good_ thing, isn’t it?”

Arthur shrugged. “I suppose.”

 _“Wait!”_ Merlin exclaimed, so suddenly that Arthur finally looked at him. “What’s the catch?”

“Well…”

_“Arthur!”_

“I…er…I…” Arthur squared his jaw. “I have to leave Emrys Studios. And…and…I have to leave you.”

Merlin blinked rapidly. “But you told him where to stick it, didn’t you?” Arthur didn’t reply. “ _Didn’t_ you, Arthur?”

“No,” Arthur said quietly. “No, I didn’t. I accepted his offer.”

“Arthur, no!” Merlin gasped. “Please tell me you have some sort of explanation for this.”

“I do,” Arthur answered. “When my father disowned me, I lost everything. I lost my job; my home; my family; my friends – _everything._ And now he’s offering everything back to me. I’d be a fool to turn him down.”

Merlin shook his head vigorously. “No – you’d be a fool to accept him. Surely you remember how unhappy pretending to be somebody you weren’t made you? Do you think all of that’s just going to magically go away this time? If your father wants you to leave me, then he’s clearly not accepted your sexuality. Do you _really_ think you can force yourself to live on the straight and narrow again?”

“Yes, I do,” Arthur said, looking away from Merlin again. “I am _not_ gay. It was just a phase – a weakness. My father has shown me that. Like it or not, Merlin, I _am_ straight.”

 _“BULLSHIT!”_ Merlin shouted. _“IF YOU’RE STRAIGHT, I’M KATE BUSH!”_

A nurse stuck her head around the door. “I’m sorry, but could you please keep it down a bit? Some of the other patients are trying to sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin apologised. “I think we’ll be done soon anyway.”

The nurse nodded, the pity in her eyes causing tears to well in Merlin’s. When she left, he turned back to Arthur. “Please, don’t do this, Arthur,” he begged. _“Please.”_

Merlin leant over to kiss Arthur, not expecting him to respond. He was surprised when he did. Arthur kissed him back slowly; tenderly, his tears merging with Merlin’s. There was a finality about the kiss that sent shivers down Merlin’s spine.

Seconds – minutes – hours – who knew? – later, Arthur pulled himself away. “I have no choice, Merlin. I have to do this.”

“Then we’re done here,” Merlin said, his voice hoarse. “I have to go.”

Arthur squeezed his hand; Merlin tore it away violently. He turned away, walking towards the door.

“Merlin,” Arthur called. Merlin turned to face him. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough, Arthur,” Merlin wept. “That’s just not good enough.” And with that, Merlin left Arthur alone in the hospital room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song reminds me of how Arthur feels in this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_t5SslBpZ8

Arthur woke up with the taste of sick in his mouth and the warmth of an unfamiliar body pressed up against his. He rolled over and found himself face to face with a sleeping woman. She was slender; brunette; undeniably pretty and – to him, at least – nameless. Arthur swore quietly and she smiled in her sleep.

He lit a cigarette and took a long drag on it. Slowly, the events of the previous night came back to him. He had gone out, got smashed and brought whoever this woman was home with him. They had sex, Arthur screwing his eyes shut and desperately trying to pretend she was a man. It was hopeless, though, so he opened his eyes and faced up to the woman. He fucked her mechanically. Then, when she’d finally fallen asleep, Arthur had staggered to his en suite and vomited. He eventually went to sleep with his back to her, shuddering when she embraced him.

Arthur had been living at his father’s house for two weeks now, getting drunk and sleeping with random women most nights. When he wasn’t enduring another day of work, getting drunk or having one night stands, he’d chain smoke. Or...or he’d take himself into his en suite; close his eyes; imagine Merlin was there with him and take matters into his own hands.

Tonight, though, there was to be a change to his routine. Uther had arranged for him to go to dinner…with Gwen.

The brunette woman woke up and smiled seductively. “Hey.”

“Good morning,” Arthur replied awkwardly. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave – I’ve got to go to work.”

The woman frowned. “You _are_ kidding me, right?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I’m not. I think you’d better leave.”

“Yeah, I think I better had!” the woman exclaimed, getting out of bed and hastily pulling her clothes on. “See you round, tosser.”

“I hope not.” Arthur sighed, lighting up another cigarette.

****

At seven o’clock that night, Arthur was leaning up against the wall of a restaurant. He was on his third cigarette in the space of ten minutes.

He had got there early, not wanting to let Gwen down in any way. He’d done that far too much already.

Finally, he saw her rusty little Fiat Punto pulling into the car park. Then he saw her approach. He gulped, putting his cigarette out on the pavement.

Gwen, as usual, looked stunning. She was wearing a simple dark green maxi dress and clattering along in high heels. Arthur found her beautiful in anything, from her ancient tracksuits to the figure-hugging shift dresses she wore to work. She was the only woman who he was very nearly in love with.

Gwen gave him a nervous smile when she saw him, then approached him and pulled him into a hug. It was awkward at first, but Arthur eventually relaxed. This was Gwen; he had no reason to be tense. He was genuinely pleased to see her, and more than a little surprised to discover that he was crying on her bare shoulder.

“Hello, Arthur,” she greeted him, when she had finally pulled away. “You stink!”

Arthur snorted. “Thanks! I see you’re just as honest as usual. Shall we?”

“We shall.” Gwen linked arms with Arthur and he led her into the restaurant.

Arthur was eager to talk to Gwen, so he insisted that they ordered their drinks and food all in one go. When the waiter finally left, Arthur started rather feebly with: “So, it’s been a while.”

Gwen nodded. “Yeah, it has. How have you been?”

“It was terrible at first. But then something – no, some _one_ – happened, and I was better than I’ve ever been,” he replied honestly. He owed her that. “And then…then I became whatever I am now.”

“Alone and a prisoner to your father,” she said firmly. “Again.”

“Don’t mince your words!” Arthur laughed shakily.

She raised her eyebrows. “When have I ever? What the _hell_ are you doing back here with your father? You look wretched.”

“Thanks!” Arthur exclaimed, as the waiter came over with their drinks. Arthur immediately took a large gulp of his vodka and coke.

“Slow down!” Gwen commanded. “Should you really be drinking that in your state?”

“I’m not _pregnant,_ Gwen.” Arthur retorted, taking another defiant draught.

“No, I’d be worried if you were,” she replied. “So, who is he? The ‘someone’ who made you happy?”

“Gwen,” Arthur pleaded. “Please. I can’t. I’ve put that part of my life behind me.”

“Why?”

“Because my father offered to give me everything back if I did.”

“Everything but your happiness, that is.” she said, willing him to respond.

“Not necessarily,” he replied, reaching over to take her hand in his. “I can see someone who would make me very happy right in front of me.”

Gwen freed herself from his grasp and held her hands up. “No. _No,_ Arthur. You’re not doing that to me again. It’s not fair.”

“It would be different this time,” he insisted. “You could see other people. We could have an open relationship.”

This offer hung stagnant in the air as the waiter put their starters in front of them. Neither of them moved to eat as he left.

“I, er, I’m not sure what my fiancé would have to say about that.” Gwen told him gently.

For the first time, Arthur noticed a glittering diamond ring on her left ring finger. “You’re engaged?” Gwen nodded, and Arthur asked: “Who’s the lucky man?”

“Lancelot.” she revealed.

“Well,” he said quietly. “I’m pleased for you. I hope you’ll be very happy together.”

Gwen blushed, reaching over the table to squeeze his hand. “Thanks, Arthur. That really means a lot.”

“So, is Morgana still single?” he asked, only half-jokingly.

Gwen tensed. “No, she isn’t, actually. Not that I’d let you lead another woman on anyway.”

“Who is she with?” Arthur demanded.

“Oh, just some guy.” Gwen answered, failing miserably at sounding casual.

“ _Who?”_ Arthur repeated, afraid that he already knew the answer.

Gwen swallowed, then gave him a terrible, pitying look. “She’s with Leon.”

Slowly, Arthur stood up, throwing a heap of money on the table for Gwen to pay with. “I have to go.” he told her, practically running from the restaurant.

****

The next morning, Arthur was nursing a stinking hangover and a black coffee. He was also smoking a cigarette, flicking the ash into the kitchen sink.

He heard Uther enter the room and turned to face him. His father was holding out an ashtray; Arthur took it from him with a stiff nod of thanks.

“Good morning, Arthur.” Uther greeted him formally.

“Good morning, father.” Arthur replied mechanically.

“How did your meal with Guinevere go?” Uther demanded.

“It didn’t,” Arthur replied gruffly. “She’s engaged.”

“Ah,” Uther said. He seemed to be more disappointed in Arthur than Gwen. “And I trust she told you about Leon’s relationship with Morgana?”

“Yes,” Arthur said carefully. “Yes, she did.”

“Such a _delightful_ couple,” Uther told him, a smug smile on his face. A dangerous gleam came into his eyes. “You won’t be going to see him now, will you, Arthur? Because that would be _a very foolish idea indeed.”_

“Why on _earth_ would I want to see him, father? I’m in search of a wife, after all.” Arthur replied bitterly.

Uther nodded approvingly. “Yes, you are. Make sure you don’t let me down this time. I have made my conditions perfectly clear to you.”

“Yes, you certainly have.” Arthur muttered. Uther made no acknowledgement. He had left Arthur alone.

Arthur waited until he heard Uther’s car pulling off the gravel drive, then got into his own car and drove away.

****

Arthur wasn’t sure whether he even still lived in the same house, but it was a Saturday and he should be off work, so it was worth a shot.

He pulled up outside the house, looking through the living room window from his car.

That was when Arthur saw him for the first time in over a year. He was overwhelmed. There he was, as gorgeous as ever, in the living room where they’d spent so many snatched hours together. It was almost as though no time had passed at all.

But it had, and this became all too clear when he saw someone else enter the room: Morgana.

She kissed Leon tenderly and Arthur forced himself to watch. Leon was obviously happy. Well, that made one of them.

Suddenly, Leon noticed him. He looked startled at first, then gave Arthur a sheepish smile. Arthur found that he could not return it. He tore his eyes away from Leon and drove away.

****

He met him the following week. Not Leon – someone else. Someone new.

He’d finally caved in and gone to a gay bar. Every second, he expected to feel his father’s hand on his shoulder; to hear his voice disowning him again.

Arthur went to the bar and bought himself a vodka and coke, which he drank far too quickly before making his way tentatively to the dance floor. He’d never done this before. He’d always fallen into relationships.

At first, he didn’t attract anyone’s attention. But then a man approached him. He looked young – twenty, Arthur guessed. He had dark brown curly hair and grey eyes. He was adorable with a hint of danger and – most importantly – he was obviously interested. He gave Arthur a sly smile and grabbed him by the hips.

Arthur gulped, but soon he found himself hip-to-hip with the man, dancing to the music.

“WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” Arthur shouted over the music.

“MORDRED!” the man shouted back. “WHAT’S YOURS?”

“ARTHUR!”

“IT’S A PLEASURE MEETING YOU, ARTHUR!” Mordred grinned, before leaning in for a kiss. Arthur hesitated for a second, then found himself kissing Mordred back.

****

So Arthur formed a new routine. He went to work during the week, noticing that he was being kept far away from Percival and Gwaine. He kept himself away from Leon. It was a struggle; there were too many memories in his office – not all of them good.

After work, most days, he would be summoned to Mordred’s house. They would have sex and Arthur would try not to call out Merlin’s name.

Then, he’d go out and get drunk, occasionally bringing a woman home for his father’s benefit; pretending to show interest in them in the morning. All of this would be accompanied by black coffee and cigarettes.

He went through this routine for five long weeks, until he read something in the Camelot Chronicle. It was a tiny article – more of a notice, really – announcing that Will’s trial would be held at the Camelot Courthouse the following morning. Arthur immediately phoned Pendragon Haulage and booked that day off work. He had promised Merlin that he would be there for him, and nothing would stop him from keeping that promise – not even his father’s threats.

****

Arthur got to the Camelot Courthouse an hour before Will’s trail was due to begin, but he was turned away.

“Sorry, sir,” an official said. “This has proven to be a very popular case. The public gallery is already full.”

“But – but – I need to support – I _promised –_ please!” Arthur begged.

“I’m very sorry – there’s nothing I can do.”

“No – there _must_ be something you can do! I’ll do _anything._ What do you want? Money? I have that. I have plenty, and I can give you as much as you want. Just let me in.”

“I won’t accept bribes,” the official said firmly. “Now you’d better leave – before I _make_ you leave.”

Arthur had no choice but to walk away dejectedly. He had failed Merlin. Again.

****

Arthur drove to Mordred’s house and knocked on the door.

“Hello you.” Mordred smirked, pulling Arthur into the house and slamming him against the wall. He kicked the front door shut, then returned his attention to Arthur. He kissed him, his hands straying to Arthur’s trouser zip. Mordred pulled it down and knelt before him.

It wasn’t that Arthur wasn’t tempted – he felt terrible, and imagining Merlin in Mordred’s place would certainly serve to raise his spirits. No, it was that he just couldn’t bring himself to let Mordred do this, when all he could imagine was the hell Merlin was facing. Alone.

“No,” he groaned, putting his finger to Mordred’s lips. Mordred sucked it playfully, looking Arthur straight in the eye. Arthur gulped, then protested hoarsely: “No, I can’t Mordred. I’m sorry.”

Mordred frowned, standing up. “Why? What’s wrong?” He leant in for a kiss, but Arthur stopped him again. Mordred looked hurt – angry, even. “Arthur?”

“It’s my ex,” Arthur confessed, and Mordred sighed. “He’s going through a terrible ordeal right now. It wouldn’t feel right doing this while that’s going on.”

“But that’s _his_ problem – _not_ yours,” Mordred insisted dismissively. “Come _on,_ Arthur.”

Arthur found himself pulling his zip up and apologising. “I’m sorry, Mordred. I can’t do this. Any of this.”

“You still love him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry, Mordred.”

Mordred gave him a small smile. “It’s okay – we’ve all loved someone we can’t have.”

“Yes, we have,” Arthur agreed. “Some of us more than others. Goodbye, Mordred. Take care of yourself.”

“I will. Don’t you worry about that” Mordred replied. “Goodbye, Arthur.” He kissed him for the final time, then watched him leave. When he had gone, Mordred slid down the wall, landing on the floor. Then he reached for his phone and dialled.

****

Arthur had pulled over to the side of a quiet road. He got his wallet out and removed his library card from it for the first time in weeks. Behind it, there was a picture – a picture he had hidden behind his library card on the day when he’d found boxes filled with all his worldly possessions in his hospital room. It was the one Merlin had helped him to draw a lifetime ago; the one he had told Arthur to keep as a reminder.

Arthur knew what he had to do, but he wasn’t ready to face up to it quite yet.

****

There was only one person Arthur could turn to in his hour of need. He just hoped that he was alone.

Arthur pulled up outside Leon’s house and looked through the window, as he had done all those weeks ago. He felt at least a decade older.

There he was, curled up on the sofa. Thankfully, he was alone. Arthur stubbed out his cigarette, dragging himself out of the car and towards Leon’s front door.

Either he hesitated for longer than he thought he had, or Leon had been expecting him, because the door was opened before he’d even pressed the doorbell.

Stood before him, for the first time in over a year, was Leon. He was tall and muscular, with a kind face and curly ginger hair which Arthur had loved to run his hands through. He smiled at Arthur, which made Arthur feel terrible, of course. He didn’t deserve to be smiled at by Leon.

“Arthur,” Leon said, his smile broadening. “Come in.”

Somewhat sheepishly, Arthur followed Leon into the living room.

“Tea?” Leon asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

“In your Harlequins mug, right?”

Arthur gasped. “You still _have_ that?”

“Of _course_ I do. I never gave up on you, Arthur.” Leon left the room to put the kettle on before Arthur could respond.

‘He _has_ given up on me,’ Arthur thought darkly, sitting on the edge of the sofa. ‘Why elsewould he have moved on with Morgana?’

Leon came back with two steaming mugs of tea, passing the Harlequins mug to Arthur. He sat down beside him, carefully putting some distance between them.

“I know about you and Morgana.” Arthur said accusingly.

“We’re happy, Arthur,” Leon told him, unapologetically. “Just like you and Merlin were.”

“How do you know about Merlin?” Arthur demanded.

“I _do_ talk to Percival and Gwaine, you know. We’ve not stopped being friends because of…because of what happened.” Leon revealed.

“‘What happened’,” Arthur quoted him. “Is that what we’re calling our relationship now?”

“Funny – you were never exactly keen to label it as a ‘relationship’at the time.” Leon retorted.

“It–it was _difficult,”_ Arthur said feebly. “Very difficult. I lost everything.”

“You didn’t have to. We could have been together. We could have been _happy._ Christ, Arthur, why did you leave me? _Why?_ And why did you leave Merlin? Why the _hell_ are you punishing yourself like this?”

“My father –”

“–Your father is a lonely, pathetic, miserable old man, who is cutting you off from everything and everyone you love because he blames you for your mother’s death,” Leon cut in. “Sure, you can live a secure life with all the creature comforts with him, but that’s worthless without love.”

“My father loves me!” Arthur insisted.

“Well, he’s got a pretty funny way of showing it!” Leon snapped. “Do know who _really_ loves you? Everyone he’s cutting you off from, _that’s_ who. Percival; Gwaine; me and Merlin. Why the _fuck_ did you choose that bitter, twisted old man over us?”

“Because I feel guilty about killing my mother,” Arthur confessed. “I’m determined to do everything I can to make amends with my father.”

“Nothing will _ever_ be enough!” Leon exclaimed. “You didn’t _decide_ to kill your mother when you were born. It was an act of nature – just like your sexuality.”

“I’m straight.” Arthur insisted.

Leon laughed bitterly. “Pull the other one! You didn’t exactly _seem_ straight when we were together.”

“Fine, I’m bisexual!”

Leon shook his head. “No you’re not. Otherwise you would have married Gwen while you had the chance.”

Arthur covered his face with his hands. “Oh, I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up so bad.”

“Yeah, you have,” Leon agreed, putting his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Arthur gazed at Leon; the way Leon returned his gaze was almost like old times. He leant in, closing his eyes; hearing Leon shifting position as he too leaned in close. Leon kissed Arthur tenderly on the lips, then pulled away, caressing Arthur’s face. “It’s too late, Arthur,” he breathed. “I’m with Morgana now. I love her, and she loves me. And it’s wonderful, it really is. I’m sorry, but we can’t go back to the way we were. It’s just too late.”

Arthur felt tears stinging his eyes; he quickly blinked them away. “I know,” he admitted. “I’m glad you’re happy Leon – really, I am. You deserve it after all the shit I put you through.”

Leon smiled. “Ancient history; water under the bridge – pick your idiom. But it’s not too late for you and Merlin. Not yet.”

Arthur nodded. “I know.”

“Arthur, I know first-hand that you’re absolutely hopeless when it comes to expressing your feelings, but you can’t let him go,” Leon insisted, before taking a sip of his now lukewarm tea. “You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you do.”

“I know,” Arthur repeated. “But what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Here’s what you’re supposed to do: leave your father’s home; go to Merlin’s home and knock on the door until he lets you in. Sleep on his doorstep if you have to – do _not_ give up until he talks to you.  And then you tell him – with _absolute honesty –_ how much you love him. You get on your knees and beg for his forgiveness if you have to. And you apologise. You tell him that you want to spend the rest of your life with him and that you’ll do anything – anything at all – to get him back. _That_ is what the hell you’re supposed to do, Arthur,” Leon told him, his voice trembling with emotion. There were tears in his eyes.

Arthur was stunned. “You’ve certainly put a lot of thought into that.”

“It was what I was hoping you’d do for me, all that time ago.”

Arthur held Leon’s hands in his, squeezing them gently. “I am so, so sorry, Leon. I can’t apologise enough. I loved you – I really did. I just wasn’t brave enough; I wasn’t good enough for you. I wasn’t anything enough, really. I was scared. I was just so fucking _scared._ I’m sorry. Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t even say goodbye.”

“No, you didn’t. But, now you’ve apologised, I’ve finally got the closure I needed. We both have,” Leon replied. “Now make sure you don’t make the same mistakes with Merlin.”

“I’m going to find him,” Arthur resolved, standing up. “I’m going to his studio right now. I’ll wait all night if I have to. I’m going to do everything I can to get him back.”

Leon smiled, getting up and clasping Arthur’s shoulder. “Good man, Arthur. Good man. I wish you the best of luck.”

Arthur smiled back. “Thank you! Thank you, Leon!”

Leon led him to the front door. Arthur was just about to go through it when he got the phone call.

****

Arthur answered his phone. It was Gwen. She cut in mid-hello, demanding: “Where are you?”

“Why?”

“Are you at Leon’s?” she asked, sounding panicked and breathless.

“Yes,” Arthur replied breathlessly. “Why?”

“You need to get out of there – now!” she exclaimed. “Your father’s on his way!”

Arthur swore, then thanked Gwen hastily and hung up the phone.

Leon frowned. “What’s up?”

“My father is coming here.”

The blood drained from Leon’s face. “Leave. Get out of here right now. I’ll deal with him.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I’m not leaving you here alone.” He grabbed Leon by the hand and pulled him towards his car.

It was too late. Uther’s Bentley pulled up outside Leon’s house. Arthur quickly dropped Leon’s hand as Uther emerged from the Bentley.

“Well, isn’t this just like old times?” Uther sneered. “Where were you last time I caught my son with you, Leon? Ah yes – under his desk, whilst he sat in his office with his trousers around his ankles.”

“Father, _please –_ this isn’t Leon’s fault,” Arthur pleaded. “I came to see him of my own accord.”

“I don’t doubt that for one moment,” Uther replied icily. “You certainly looked pleased with your little ‘arrangement’ the last time I saw you together.”

“How did you know I was here?” Arthur demanded, putting himself between Leon and Uther.

“I got a phone call from a young man named Mordred. He told me all about your ‘arrangement’ with him. You seem to be quite the heartbreaker,” Uther revealed, a smug smile spreading across his face. “I soon managed to work out whose arms you were most likely to have fallen into after _that_ sorry business.”

Arthur had heard enough of Uther’s ignorance over recent weeks. It was time for him to start defending himself. “Father, I will not let you punish me for my sexuality anymore. I didn’t _choose_ to be gay – just like I didn’t _choose_ to kill my mother. The difference is that I’m glad to be gay, because there is someone out there right now who I love so much it actually scares me. And – hopefully – he loves me back. I was happy with him, and I’m not going to live a life of misery with you anymore.  You are a bitter, twisted, _sick_ old man and I don’t need you in my life,” Arthur declared. “Don’t expect to hear from me again.”

Leon actually applauded.

“And another thing,” Arthur continued. “”If I hear you’ve sacked Leon because of this, I’ll do what I did last time. I’ll use the last of my savings and give them to Gwaine and Percival to pay for Leon to take you to court for unfair dismissal, and you’ll be forced to pay up and employ him again.”

Leon gasped. “I never knew you did that for me! You let Percival and Gwaine take the credit!”

“You were the first man I ever fell in love with, and I will always be here for you,” Arthur promised him. “You have my word,” He kissed Leon on the lips, then whispered: “Goodbye, Leon. I’ll stay in touch this time.”

Leon smiled. “You’d better! Good luck, Arthur.”

“Thanks,” Arthur grinned. “Look after Morgana – she’s a great girl.”

“Yes, I know!”

Arthur’s farewell to Uther was considerably less cheerful. “Well, goodbye then, father. I meant wheat I said about Leon. Don’t expect to hear from me otherwise.”

Arthur went to get in his car, but Uther reminded him: “I paid for that car. It’s mine again now.”

So Arthur walked away, his head held high and his heart soaring. He was going to get Merlin back.


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin was not at Emrys Studios when Arthur arrived there. Arthur assumed he must still have been at Will’s trial. He would have gone to Percival’s garage, but he didn’t expect to get a warm reception. Besides, they were probably supporting Merlin. Just like he should have been.

Arthur went to the newsagents down the road and bought a six-pack of beer. He was going to buy a newspaper as well, to pass the time, but he didn’t need any more bad news that day. He went back to sit on Merlin’s doorstep, opening his first can of beer and lighting up a cigarette. He knew he shouldn’t be doing either – Merlin certainly wouldn’t approve – but he was being plagued by nerves.

By the time Merlin finally arrived two hours later, Arthur was plastered and reeking of smoke. He was lying on the doorstep now, shakily lifting yet another cigarette to his lips.

Merlin kicked him in the ribs; Arthur bolted upright. “What the hell are _you_ doing here?” Merlin demanded.

“Coming to win you back, fair gentleman!” Arthur proclaimed loudly, leaning over to kiss Merlin’s feet. He lost his balance and Merlin had to catch him.

Merlin roughly pulled Arthur to his feet and put his arm around him. Arthur leaned in to kiss him, but Merlin turned his face away. Arthur burst into tears.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Merlin exclaimed, opening the front door to Emrys Studios and dragging Arthur inside. He hauled him into the living room and shoved him down on the sofa. “Try not to choke on your own vomit while I’m gone.” Merlin sighed, sounding slightly hopeful.

He left the room, and Arthur called his name at the top of his voice until Merlin returned with a large plastic tumbler of water. Merlin sat next to Arthur on the sofa, putting his arm around him again so that Arthur could slump against his body. He held the tumbler to Arthur’s lips. “Drink. Now.”

“No, I want more alcohol!” Arthur insisted.

“This is special vodka,” Merlin lied. “Get it down you.”

Arthur would have chugged the ‘special vodka’ (and probably choked in the process) if Merlin hadn’t forced him to drink it slowly.

“Why the _hell_ are you here?” Merlin demanded, once Arthur had finished drinking.

“I have left my father and now I am here to make a grand gesture of love and win you back.” Arthur declared.

Merlin sighed. “Well, you’re doing a pretty shitty job so far.”

Arthur started crying again. “Why are you being so _mean_ Merlin?” he whined. “I gave up _everything,_ and I came here because I’m in love with you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But now I’m not so sure about that, because you’re too _mean!”_

“We’re not talking about this now – you’re too much of a mess,” Merlin resolved. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Arthur grinned. “I thought you’d never offer!”

“On the sofa.” Merlin told him firmly, leaving the room and returning with a duvet and pillow.

Merlin realised that he had stepped in something wet. He looked down and saw that he was standing in a puddle of sick. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he exclaimed. Arthur had the grace to look sheepish as Merlin led him to the bathroom.

Arthur spent a long time crouched over the toilet. Merlin rubbed his back and begrudgingly offered words of comfort as he vomited.

Eventually, Arthur stopped being sick. He fell asleep on the bathroom floor, his face pressed against the cold tiles. When he awoke, he realised that he was in bed, with Merlin pressed up against him. “I love you.” he whispered.

Merlin smiled sleepily. “I know. I love you too, you absolute dollophead.”

****

Merlin was still asleep when Arthur woke up, so Arthur went to the kitchen alone to scavenge for breakfast. He had a craving for greasy food, making fried egg on toast for himself and scrambled egg on toast for Merlin.

He looked for some mugs for tea but there were none to be found in the kitchen. He knew that they would all be in a cluster around Merlin’s easel, in the studio. When he went there he was confronted with the image of himself and Merlin in bed. It was a larger version of the sketch Merlin had done of the two of them in Arthur’s bedsit.  It was almost life-sized and it was exquisitely painted.

“It’s called ‘Portrait of the Artist, With His Muse’, remember?” Merlin’s voice came from behind him. “It’s my masterpiece.”

“That it is.” Arthur agreed, astonished.

“I was very tempted to put it in an exhibition and publicly out you,” Merlin confessed, “but Percival and Gwaine just about managed to talk me out of it.”

“You’ve been talking to them?”

“Of _course_ I have – they didn’t stop being my friends when you abandoned me. You haven’t kept in touch with anyone. They’ve been worried about you, Arthur.”

“My father made sure that they were never on guard duty whilst I was working,” Arthur told him bitterly. “Weren’t _you_ worried about me?”

“Yes, I was,” Merlin admitted begrudgingly. “But I was mostly angry. And upset. And heartbroken.”

“It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, you know.”

“Yeah, well, you _chose_ to live a life of misery with your father,” Merlin retorted. “How _is_ your heterosexuality, by the way?”

“Non-existent,” Arthur replied. “I tried – I really did.”

“Oh yeah? And how did that go for you?”

“I took advantage of women to try to gain my father’s approval,” Arthur said, deeply ashamed of himself. He took a deep breath, then made the confession he had most been dreading: “And, I, er…I, um…I had a relationship with another man.”

“What was his name?”

“Mordred. But it was just sex,” Arthur said hastily. “I mean, it was for _me,_ anyway.  I imagined he was you. He didn’t take too kindly to me breaking up with him. He betrayed me to my father.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ why you’ve come crawling back here, is it?” Merlin demanded. “Because your father wasn’t so accommodating when he found out you hadn’t magically turned straight?”

“No – _no –_ it wasn’t like that!” Arthur insisted, clutching Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin shook him off furiously. “I was genuinely going to come back of my own accord. I couldn’t live without you any longer, Merlin. I love you.”

“Saying ‘I love you’ doesn’t magically solve everything, you know!” Merlin snapped. “You left me! I was bloody miserable, and I _needed_ you!”

“I know. I know.” Arthur got on his knees.

“What are you doing?” Merlin gasped. “You can’t get round me like _that!”_

“I know. I’m not _trying_ to. I’m on my knees begging for you to take me back,” Arthur revealed. “I need you. These past few weeks have been the worst few weeks of my life. I can’t live without you. I’m ridiculously in love with you – so in love it hurts – and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Merlin’s face softened; he let Arthur put his arms around him.

“Do it.” Arthur said suddenly.

Merlin frowned. “Do what?”

“Put the portrait in an exhibition. You’re right – it’s your masterpiece, and I want the world to see it.”

“Everyone will know you’re gay.”

“Yes, and they’ll also know that we’re in love. There’s nothing I want to do more than to tell the whole world how much I love you,” Arthur said earnestly. “This would be the perfect way to do so.”

Merlin beamed. “Okay, I’ll make arrangements for it to be shown in my next exhibition.”

“Great! Shall we have breakfast now? Although it’s probably freezing.”

“Then I can think of something much better to do.” said Merlin, suddenly coy.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Oh yes? And what would _that_ be?”

“I want you to…” Merlin trailed off, giving Arthur a smouldering look.

“Yes?” Arthur prompted him, taking a step closer and kissing the nape of his neck.

“…clean the toilet.”

Arthur’s face fell. _“What?”_

Merlin’s smile broadened. “You didn’t think I was gonna go easy on you, did you?”

“Well…no, I guess not.”

“Right, well, get to it,” Merlin commanded. “We’ll see what we can do about a, er, ‘rewards system’ when you’re done.”

Arthur bolted upstairs at that, and Merlin laughed fondly as he watched him go.

****

Two weeks passed. Merlin had made Arthur do tremendous amounts of chores to make up for leaving him, but Arthur didn’t mind. Merlin had set up quite the rewards system.

Percival and Gwaine had also welcomed Arthur back with open arms. There had been no talk of more fights; they now only occasionally fought each other for fun. Since Arthur had nearly died the last time he’d been in the ring, Percival went easy on him for once.

They had all been there to support Merlin when Will was sentenced to a year in prison. As he was being led out, Will looked Merlin in the eye for the first time in the trial. Arthur thought he detected a hint of remorse in his eyes.

So they had managed to begin to move on, to the point where they were now.

They stood, hand in hand, gazing up at Merlin’s masterpiece: the portrait of them in bed together, ‘Portrait of the Artist, With His Muse’.

People were milling around Merlin’s exhibition. Every painting was, in Arthur’s admittedly biased mind, phenomenal, but the one painting everyone was drawn to was their portrait.

People came to Merlin with offers of extortionate amounts of money, but Merlin’s answer was always the same: the portrait was not for sale. It was enough for the world to know that they were in love – a love too precious to be cheapened by money. A quote kept going around in his head: ‘My heart shall never be put under their microscope. There is too much of myself in the thing’.

The opinions Merlin and Arthur cared most about were those of their dearest friends.

“That’s fantastic, Merlin – really,” Gwaine told him, a look of amazement on his face. “You’ve got Arthur’s ugly mug down perfectly,” He winced as Arthur hit him. “Hey, just because you nearly died it doesn’t mean you can attack me!”

There was an awkward silence, which Percival quickly filled by saying: “Gwaine’s right – it really _is_ a great portrait. The likeness is remarkable. You should be proud of him, Arthur.”

Arthur beamed. “I _am_ – he amazes me every day.”

Gwaine grimaced. “Please – for the love of God –don’t say you’re going to turn into one of those sickening lovey-dovey couples!”

“Oh, but we’re _soooo_ in love and we want the whole world to know!” Arthur proclaimed melodramatically, taking hold of Merlin and dipping him into a movie-style kiss.

They were all laughing when Arthur’s phone rang. As soon as he answered it, his face fell. He went very quiet, giving one word answers to whoever he was talking to. Finally, he said: “Okay, I’ll come right away,” Then he hung up, casting a grave look at Merlin. “It’s my father. He’s in hospital. He’s – he’s – he’s dying.”

****

They all rushed to Percival and Gwaine’s car straight after Arthur told them what was happening. Merlin ignored everyone’s questions about why he was leaving his own exhibition so hastily, his arm wrapped tightly around Arthur as he navigated a path for them.

Nobody spoke during the car journey. Merlin and Arthur sat together in the back of the car. Arthur was holding Merlin’s hand so tightly that he was actually hurting him. Merlin didn’t even consider telling him this.

Finally, the longest car journey of all of their lives – especially Arthur’s – was over, and Percival pulled into the nearest parking space he could find.

When they were out of the car, Arthur took Merlin’s hand again and led him into the hospital. Percival and Gwaine followed close behind.

“I’m here to see my father, Uther Pendragon.” Arthur told the receptionist.

They were directed to the room Uther was in – private, of course. Arthur steeled himself, then knocked on the door.

A nurse answered; looked at them all and said “Family only I’m afraid.”

“Merlin _is_ my family.” Arthur told her firmly.

“Arthur,” said Merlin gently. “I’m touched, but your father is dying. You need to be alone with him right now.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “You’re right, as usual. Thank you so much for coming with me, all of you.”

“We all love you mate,” said Gwaine. “We’re here for you.”

Arthur gave him a small smile, then kissed Merlin on the lips. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. I _can.”_ He drew his shoulders back; squared his jaw and followed the nurse into his father’s hospital room.

****

Arthur hesitated before he crossed the room to the chair beside Uther’s bed. His father was lying down, his face ashen and his breathing laboured. Seeing Uther like this made Arthur feel uncomfortable. It seemed indecent to be witnessing his father’s decay.

Uther slowly opened his eyes as Arthur sat down. “Arthur – my son – you came.” he gasped.

“Yes, I did.” Arthur said, at a loss over what to say. Nothing seemed appropriate in this situation.

“I didn’t know if you would,” Uther admitted. “I wouldn’t have if I was in your position.”

“We are not alike.”

“No, we are not,” Uther agreed. “You are a far better man that I.”

“You didn’t seem to think so a few weeks ago,” Arthur retorted. Pain flashed across Uther’s face, and Arthur knew it wasn’t because of his illness. “I’m sorry – this isn’t the time.”

“This is _precisely_ the time. I don’t have much time left, after all.”

“What’s – what’s wrong with you?” Arthur asked him awkwardly.

“Heart failure,” Uther replied calmly. He didn’t sound frightened. If anything, he sounded matter-of-fact – as though he had had time to process his illness. “My doctor has been doing his best to treat me for over a year now. There’s nothing else he can do.”

“You’ve been ill for over a _year?”_ Arthur exclaimed. “Why the _hell_ didn’t you tell me?”

“I intended to do so. I went to your office the day I found out –”

“– And you walked in on Leon and I.” Arthur realised, the blood draining from his face.

“Yes, and that’s why I was so…harsh.”

 _“Harsh?”_ Arthur laughed bitterly. “You disowned me and left me with _nothing –_ and you would have fired Leon if I hadn’t paid for him to take you to court! Saying you were _‘harsh’_ is an insult, father. You were cruel; merciless – evil, even.”

“Arthur, you must understand –”

“What is there to understand?” Arthur demanded, standing up. “I’ve wasted enough time on you already. Goodbye father.”

“Arthur, wait!” Uther called. Arthur slowly turned around to face him. “Just let me explain. Please.”

Arthur had never heard Uther say ‘please’ before. He stopped in his tracks. “Go on. But make it quick.”

“I had been thinking about the future after my doctor diagnosed me,” Uther began. “I knew I didn’t have much time left; that I needed to get my affairs in order. I needed to know that the company I had built from nothing – my life’s work – would be in safe hands.”

“And mine weren’t safe because I was – _am –_ gay?”

“I wanted you to marry; to produce heirs. Pendragon Haulage belongs to the Pendragons. If you fail to have children, then you are the last one left. What will become of my life’s work after you die?”

“I can still have children,” Arthur pointed out. “There are ways.”

“Yes, I know that. But I had just found out that I was dying, and then I found you with Leon’s mouth around…well, you know.”

“Yes, I do, thank you.” Arthur said tersely.

“I was too proud to admit the wrong I had done you. That’s why I wanted you to come back home,” Uther revealed. “I needed a second chance.”

“My home is with Merlin.

“I know that now.”

“I _love_ him.”

“I know. And that’s – that’s perfectly acceptable.”

“‘Perfectly acceptable’?”Arthur echoed, appalled. “Fuck you. _Fuck you.”_

“I deserve that.”

“Yes, yes you do.”

“Can you find it in your heart to forgive me, my son?” Uther begged.

“No, I can’t. I can’t bring myself to forgive you, father.”

“Arthur, _please –”_

“–But I know what it’s like to be alone in the world,” Arthur continued. “You’re right, father – I _am_ a better man than you. I will not let you die alone.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Arthur, my boy!”

“I’m not a boy anymore, father,” Arthur told him firmly. “And I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for myself.”

****

Arthur – accompanied by Percival, Gwaine and Merlin, who waited in the corridor – went to see Uther in hospital for a week. Then, at ten o’clock at night on the eighth day, he got a phone call.

It was Uther’s doctor. “Your father hasn’t got long left. You need to come to the hospital right away.”

Arthur immediately rang Gwaine; he and Percival soon arrived at Emrys Studios and took Arthur and Merlin to the hospital.

As soon as the car pulled into the car park, Arthur got out and ran into the hospital. He was shown into Uther’s room, where he found his father looking frailer than ever.

Uther was wearing a breathing mask; he clutched at Arthur’s hand and pulled the mask off to speak to him.

“Arthur…my son.” he gasped.

“Don’t try to speak, father.”

Uther shook his head. “No…I must. This is…my last chance.”

“Father, don’t –”

“I just want you…to be happy…” Uther told him. “Be…be happy, Arthur. With Merlin. That’s all…all I hope for.”

“Thank – thank you, father.” Arthur stammered.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” Uther murmured.

“I know. I love you.”

“I…I love you too.” Uther whispered. He closed his eyes and was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

A week had passed since Uther’s death. Arthur hadn’t outwardly mourned, but Merlin knew that this didn’t mean he was unaffected. Arthur would go out for long walks or shut himself in their bedroom. Merlin left him to it. He did all he could think of doing: cooking dinner; doing Arthur’s chores when he forgot to and being a loving pair of arms for Arthur to retreat into.

Now it was the morning of Uther’s funeral. Merlin was wearing his only suit. He could see Arthur struggling to do his tie up with shaky hands. He went over and did it up for him, reassuring him: “It’s going to be okay, you know. I’m here for you.”

Arthur cracked a smile. “Yeah, I know you are. You never let me down.” He kissed Merlin; they broke apart when they heard Percival and Gwaine’s car horn outside.

Merlin took Arthur’s hand and asked: “Right, have you got everything?”

Arthur nodded. “I’ve got my suit; my wallet; my speech; myself and you,” He paused, and Merlin could tell something was troubling him. “What if the eulogy is a pile of crap?”

“It’s not. I read over it last night,” Merlin revealed. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, of course I don’t. You’re going to hear it soon anyway, unless I choke up completely.”

“If you do, I’ll come up to the altar and read it for you.”

Arthur was touched. “Thank you. Come on then – let’s get this over with.”

When they got into the car, Gwaine and Percival asked how Arthur was doing and then wanted to know when Uther’s coffin would be arriving.

“Oh crap, I don’t even know!” Arthur exclaimed.

“The hearse should be here in five minutes.” Merlin told him gently.

Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hand so hard it hurt until the hearse arrived. Then they followed it to the church, making up a very small funeral procession.

****

Uther had done very little to endear himself to anybody when he had been alive. To put it bluntly, he was widely disliked. Arthur was worried that nobody would turn up to the funeral.

So he was very surprised when he found Gwen, Lancelot, Leon, Morgana and some of his former work colleagues from Pendragon Haulage outside the church. “Why are they here?” he asked. “My father was terrible to all of them – especially Leon.”

“They’re not here for him – they’re here for _you.”_ said Percival.

Tears welled up in Arthur’s eyes. “I can’t believe this.”

“Well, you should,” Gwaine said gently. “Everybody here loves you.”

They all got out of the car and Arthur soon found himself being inundated with handshakes, hugs, kisses on the cheek and consolatory words. Morgana hesitated for a moment, standing awkwardly by Leon’s side. Arthur pulled her into a hug and thanked her for coming.

The time to bear Uther’s coffin into the church had arrived. Everyone went inside, and Arthur, Merlin, Percival and Gwaine carried the coffin to the altar. They all sat in the front row, Arthur’s eyes constantly drawn to his father’s coffin. It was surreal to think that Uther’s body was inside that box, lifeless; he would never see his father again. He also had the feeling that a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was finally free.

Merlin did not let go of Arthur’s hand throughout the whole service, apart from when Arthur went up to the altar to deliver Uther’s eulogy.

Standing in the pulpit and looking down at his father’s coffin, Arthur suddenly felt like the little boy who had craved his absent father’s attention. He was impossibly lonely. Uther had wanted Pendragon Haulage to be passed down through their family. Now Arthur was the only one left – marooned; deserted for the final time.

But then Arthur looked at Merlin, who was smiling encouragingly at him. Arthur realised that he was not alone; that he _did_ have a family. Not just Merlin, but everyone in that church. They were not here for Uther – they were here for him. It dawned on Arthur that family was a lot more than just blood. In fact, those who bear no blood relation to you can be family more than those who do.

Slowly, Arthur unfolded the piece of paper he had written Uther’s eulogy on. Clearing his throat, he began: “My relationship with my father has never been an easy one. We were never particularly close. Father was too busy working at Pendragon Haulage. But I know now that he was building his company so that I would always be secure when he was gone. 

“I can see now that the main reason our relationship was always so difficult was because he never recovered from my mother’s death. My father had very clear views on how I should turn out. I was all that he had left of her. He did terrible things, but I do not believe for one second that he was a terrible man. His business was his legacy, and I will do my best to be the curator of that.”

Arthur looked across at Merlin and all of his friends in the pews: his new family. “Thank you all for coming today. I know that none of you had any great love for Uther. I will never forget your kindness.”

After the church service had ended, Uther was buried beside Ygraine. With his parents finally reunited, and his new family by his side, Arthur was content.

****

There were a few inevitable changes after Uther’s funeral. Arthur appointed Leon as director of Pendragon Haulage. He had no interest in working for the company he had inherited himself, and could think of no safer hands to entrust his family’s legacy to than Leon’s.

Arthur was busy with his own business venture: he used a portion of his inheritance to buy a gym. Gone were the days of training in Percival’s garage – that was their place to relax and unwind now. Newly qualified to the eyeballs in all sorts of sports training, he ran the gym with Percival and Gwaine.

Of course, Arthur was still Merlin’s muse. Merlin’s career was going from strength to strength, and demand was rising for original Merlin Emrys paintings. ‘Portrait of the Artist, With His Muse’ was drawing in offers from as far afield as Adelaide, but Merlin refused to sell it. When it wasn’t being exhibited, it was hanging in pride of place above Merlin and Arthur’s bed. Since Merlin would not sell the portrait, he was being commissioned to paint other peoples’ portraits.

The only cloud on their horizon came in the form of Mordred. One day, three months after Uther’s funeral, he came to the gym and demanded to see Arthur. Arthur called him into his office. Mordred blanched when he saw that Merlin was in there with him.

“What do you want, Mordred?” Arthur asked him curtly.

“To see you.”

“Well, you’ve seen me. Now you can go.” Arthur retorted.

“No, Arthur – _please!_ Just hear me out.” Mordred pleaded.

“You’ve got a nerve!” Merlin exclaimed.

“Yes, you have,” Arthur agreed. “The last I heard, you were betraying me to my father.”

“You broke my heart!”

“And I’m very sorry for that. But what you did was inexcusable – and unnecessary, since I’d already told my father I was going back to Merlin.”

“I just wanted to hurt you. It was only fair.”

“No, it wasn’t! Stop being such an immature wanker, Mordred! If _that’s_ what you think is acceptable then you need to grow the fuck up.”

“So I guess there’s no way you’ll give me a second chance?” Mordred enquired pathetically.

“No, there isn’t,” Arthur replied. He put his arm firmly around Merlin. “I’m with Merlin and that’s not going to change any time soon. In fact, it’s not going to change at all.”

“Right. I’ll see myself out then.” Mordred left, and Merlin and Arthur were alone in the office again.

“It’s people like him who remind me just how lucky I am to have you.” Arthur sighed, leaning in for a kiss.

“Yes, you are – and don’t you forget it!” Merlin grinned.

“I’m not likely to.” Arthur smiled, kissing him again.

****

Two weeks later, Merlin and Arthur were both wearing their best suits and getting ready to go out.

“I thought Gwen and Lancelot’s wedding rehearsal was next week?” Merlin asked suspiciously.

“Yes, they had to move it so that Lancelot’s mother could come,” Arthur explained hastily. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s the rush?”

“Nothing. I just _really_ want to get going.”

Arthur tried not to draw Merlin’s attention as he patted down his jacket. Yes, it was still there, hidden in the inside pocket.

“Are you okay, Arthur? You seem very tense.”

“I’m fine. In fact, I’m wonderful,” Arthur replied, kissing Merlin. “How could I be anything else with you?”

“How very charming of you,” Merlin said coyly. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed melodramatically. _“Finally!”_

Merlin arched his eyebrows, then led the way out of Emrys Studios. Behind him, Arthur checked his pocket yet again. It hadn’t magically disappeared. He was really going to do this. He took a deep breath and ran over what he was going to say in his head for the thousandth time.

One last check as he got into the car, then a reassuring glance at Merlin. He really did look beautiful. Arthur couldn’t resist kissing him again, before driving to the restaurant with Merlin’s hand resting on his knee.

When they came to red light, Merlin leaned his head on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur gently stoked his hair. “I love you, Merlin Emrys.”

Merlin smiled. “I love you too, Arthur Pendragon…you absolute dollophead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it: the final chapter of ‘Portrait of the Artist, With His Muse’. I started writing this fanfiction over a year ago, in March 2013. I had no idea that it would end up being quite so long, or that anyone would read it – the fact that it now has over 3800 hits is astounding!! 
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who has been reading it – especially those who have stuck with it from the very beginning, even through the periods where there would be no updates for over a month. Thank you to those of you who have given my fic kudos and to the wonderful people who have left comments, many of which include levels of analysis to rival the essays I wrote for English Literature! I honestly don’t think I would have stuck at writing this if it wasn’t for that feedback spurring me on. So thank you very, very much indeed for making me feel that you actually wanted to read the story I at many times felt daunted by the prospect of; that you actually wanted to find out what happened next (so I had to write it!) 
> 
> The song that I think fits the end of this story is Tom Odell’s song ‘Grow Old With Me’ – ‘Grow old with me/Let us share what we see/And oh the best it could be/Just you and I’. Arthur, Merlin, Percival, Gwaine and co finally have their happy ending. Thank you for giving me the motivation to create it. I really hope you like it x
> 
>  
> 
> Tom Odell, 'Grow Old With Me': https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rgHYP0dD_4

**Author's Note:**

> The playlist for this fic can be found here: http://8tracks.com/camelots_scribe/playlist-of-the-artist-with-his-muse
> 
> Please note that I do not own the rights to the Shine/BBC television series 'Merlin' or any of the characters from the show. If I did, it would still be being made and Merthur and Perwaine would be canon...


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